Through The Ghost
by IWriteSinsOrTragedies
Summary: The mission that changed it all. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Natasha Romanoff a.k.a Black Widow and Clint Barton a.k.a. Hawkeye are sent on a simple recovery mission in Budapest that quickly turns in to a fight for survival. Rated T for my own paranoia
1. Prolouge

The clock ticked away slowly. Everytime the seconds passed they felt as if time dragged on them making each lag on longer than the last. Two people sat in the large yet comfortable office one, a man, watched as a woman with fiery red hair stared at the clock that hung on the wall counting the minutes that passed.

He was almost afraid to say anything and break the silence created by the woman. Something about it seemed thick yet fragile like glass that his voice would shatter upon impact. So the only noise was the clock ticking away, something that somehow attributed to the silence and give it depth. With the end of each tick there an exaggerated silence before the next one. It soon turned deafening enough for him to break it out of pure discomfort.

"Agent Romanoff." he started, "I assume you know why you are here." The man's dark grey suit had his hands folded neatly in his lap as he lounged in the expensive looking arm chair. With dark hair was combed neatly and glasses hanging around his neck on a chain everything about him screamed professionalism. Even his dark wood desk was neatly organized as if a pencil out of place would cause his whole world to fall apart.

Natasha on the other hand was leaned back in her chair comfortable and relaxed. She was dressed in simple jeans and a S.H.I.E.L.D. t shirt instead opposite of his formal attire. Not only was her clothing choice casual but it was also wrinkled by being worn in for too long as she had been laying in plastic chairs that were standard issue in hospitals. "If you are asking if I understand what a mandatory psych eval. is the answer is yes."

He wasn't taken back at all by her sharp attitude towards him. "Natasha, may I call you Natasha?" The look she gave him was answer enough. "Alright then, this is much more than a psychological evaluation you know that don't you?"

"I'm aware." Even as Natasha said it she seemed bored. Leg twitching and her hair being tucked behind her ear only to be pulled back from behind it again to be played with, a mental note to cut her hair shorter was made. Though it seemed as if the entire meeting, though important, was a waste of her time.

"You don't seem very aware, or caring, of your situation." He observed though Natasha still seemed indifferent to his scrutiny. A mask of similar indifference to her reaction was on his face hiding that he felt far more frustrated to how casual she appeared to be. Working with frustrating people was his job, spies are the worst patients for a therapist. "Especially how important this meeting between us is . It seems to me like you think you have a better place to be."

Glancing quickly at the name tag perfectly placed on his suit jacket to get the name she had already forgotten. It was unlike a spy to forget a name, but she had other things more important than a therapists name on her mind. " every minute I spend here talking to you about things that have I have already explained I'm away from my partner. I'm sure _you _are aware of his situation."

He nodded slowly analyzing her every move. "I am aware of Agent Barton's condition which makes this meeting even more important. S.H.I.E.L.D. has to know if you are able to go back into the field."

"I've seen many terrible things in my life doctor and I've always kept going." She hoped that would be all the answer that she would need to give. It was no secret that Natasha had witnessed terrible things which she had all walked away from.

"But this isn't just another thing is it?" asked carefully. "Why don't you tell me what happened; I want to hear the unfiltered version not the PG version you gave your superiors."

She tensed off by the doctor's sudden enthusiasm that had seemed to be a thing that he could not achieve. "I don't know what you mean. Everything that happened is in my report."

He shook his head and grabbed the file from inside his desk holding it out to her. "This you mean?" Aimlessly he flipped through the pages of her report. "I have one word for this and it's formal."

"It is a formal report." Patience for Natasha was starting to wear thin. Her leg bounced up and down as nervous energy built up inside with every passing second she had to spend here she was away from the medical ward.

The doctor laughed at what wasn't a joke. "Yes, that it is. But this isn't a formal setting," Natasha held in her laughter, "I need every detail you can remember, and I know how hard that might be. But these are my orders straight from Director Fury."

The spy nodded slowly and stood from her chair. Without a word she ducked under the desk searching the bottom side for the lockdown button that was hidden in all doctors offices to ensure confidentiality. The click of metal sounded and she knew the room was secure so she turned to the doctor with a deadly gaze. "Sorry about that, I just don't want to be interrupted." If anyone needed to talk to her at the moment they had her number, and there was only call she would answer right now anyways.

"Where shall we start from?" The doctor asked clicking his pen and getting ready with a blank memo pad that sat in front of him.

Natasha looked back through her mission. Where to start something like that was something that was so spectacularly terrifying as Budapest. "Where do I start?" She asked no one. "Doctor when you travel through the ghost the only place to begin is the beginning. As cheesy sounding as that is."

The doctor didn't laugh at the lame attempt at a joke though he did set his pen down and got ready to take his notes. Eyes watching as her's drifted forward remembering the events of the past month and all the wreckage they had caused.

"It all began when Clint and I went shopping for a bow."

* * *

**(A/N) This story is going to have a format simular to one of a book I read, ****Name of The Wind**** by Patrick Rothfuss is highly recommended. Basically every now and then there will be chapters like this in the third person but the bulk of it will be like you are reading Natasha telling you what happened in Budapest.**


	2. Chapter 1

We were in some sports store that was more like a warehouse with it's high ceilings and overall how large the area of the space was. Normally I didn't go shopping when Agent Barton, I mean Clint, wanted to browse the new stock of amateur hunter's bows that were open for the public. He inspected each of them from the most advanced to ones just above beginner. Obviously none of them were good enough.

"This one's crap." Clint held up a complex looking hunting bow analyzing all of the details the bow had to offer. All except the price which was far higher than some of my guns, his eyes seemed to deliberately go over that. Not because he didn't care for the price, but because he didn't want it's worth to sway his judgement over the quality.

I remember rolling my eyes at him very clearly. "What's wrong with this one?" I asked entertained by the look of disappointment on his face as he set the bow back on it's appropriate stand. I didn't think he was even allowed to take them off, but I would have liked to see the poor kid who tried stopping him.

"Everything's wrong with it. It's crap just like all of them." He pointed vaguely to the bows that were lined up on shelves across the store.

Something about this whole trip confused me. This was the first time I went with him on one of his periodical trips to go browsing through the lines of weapons and in all my wondering I never imagined him going out of his way just to criticize the workmanship but into the bows. Looking back I don't think he even had any money on him.

"You know Barton I will never understand why you traveled and hour and a half from base just to make fun of this store's entire inventory." I told him hoping he would take my statement as a question.

He smiled. "What you never look at a little 9mm and hug your 45 just a little tighter?" We moved to a long line of cross bows that he studied them the way a piano teacher would for a student about to play in front of an audience.

"There isn't anything wrong with a 9mm." I informed him a bit spiteful about his earlier comment. "It's perfect for packing in an area you don't want a weapon to be noticed." Of course I had one at that moment resting in the waistband of my jeans. It's a rare thing for me to be anywhere without a weapon, it's my job.

"Well you don't hide a bow." He pretended to aim the weapon to check the sight on it. "Quality is number one. These might be good for Bambi's mom but I prefer something that you don't buy off the shelf."

"Then why come?" I asked.

The grin he gave me was lopsided and one I have seen many times. "For fun. Why else would I take time out of my day to see the crap that this place calls weaponry."

That's when my phone started to ring. Clint continued his grading whilst I answered my buzzing phone. If I had known everything that call was going to bring I would have let it go to voicemail and just stayed in that store with Clint all day, but I didn't so I answered.

"Romanoff." I answered quickly.

Phil Coulson's voice came through the line which already meant that there was a new mission. "Is Barton with you?"

"Not even a good afternoon, or I'm sorry to be calling you on your day off?" Slightly annoyed would be putting it lightly. Clint and I had just gotten back from a month long security detail that was so under wraps the person we were protecting didn't know we were there.

"I'll take that as a yes." Coulson was always the no nonsense type. As our handler it's his job to make sure we got where we need to be and when we need to be there. "Get back to base; Fury needs you."

"Be there in an hour," I told him. Even as tired as I was from the previous mission we went on I knew there was no saying no to a order, especially when the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. is the one calling it. Besides I love my job it doesn't take long for me to get bored with normal life.

Clint set down the crossbow with an exaggerated sigh. "Another mission?"

I shrugged putting my phone back in pocket. "Criminal's don't understand that we have lives that involve more than kicking their asses." He laughed a bit before we started heading out.

* * *

When we arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D. Coulson was waiting for us he looked back then exactly as he does now. Grey suit, neat hair, and dark sunglasses was his uniform; he seems intimidating until you get to know him.

"You two are late." I couldn't tell if he was joking or not. His tone was serious, but there was something like a look of affection on his face.

Clint checked his watch with a look of disappointment. It was five minute past when I said we'd be back at base. "I know. But we were an hour and a half away. That's a little impressive."

Coulson smiled breaking his composure, a skill that only Clint had. That's what makes him such a great undercover agent. He has the ability to be liked by everyone he meets. You could be a stranger to him and in five minutes you would be laughing away at some stupid joke he told. Up close he's your best friend, but once you turn your back it's a different story.

"Fury's waiting for you in his office." Coulson led us there, even though we already knew the way. He was required to sit through all briefings with us since it's his only job to have all of the facts for us. Normally he would also be in charge of arranging extraction for us but we don't get an extraction team. The second we touch down we're on our own.

Director Fury was sitting at his desk looking out his window and down to the world below him. A habit I found him doing whenever he was stressed or needed to think about something carefully like some people twirl their hair. "About time," he said as we marched in. "I was beginning to think that you two had better things to do."

"Always, sir. But we still came." Clint never knows when to be serious when it came to the few people in his life that he actually know his real name.

"Well I'm glad that you did because Councilman Peterson asked for Strike Team Delta specifically for this one." He pushed a file towards us it was opened to a page with a map highlighting Budapest, Hungary. "It's a simple extraction mission. There's a terrorist organization hidden somewhere in the city information was leaked out on how they acquired an old weapon made by the late Howard Stark that can take an entire cities power of the grid."  
"I thought that devise was just a myth." I said flipping to the page about the device. It was no larger than a toolbox and looked modern and sleek even for the time it was made it.

"So did S.H.I.E.L.D. until they got a hold of it." Fury finally turned to us from the window and I held in my shock. I had forgotten he was newly back from medical leave after his secretary had been figured out to be on orders to kill him. There was a fresh bandage laying over his left eye. "You know the drill. Get in, get the weapon, and get gone. You leave in an hour."


	3. Chapter 2

Plane rides are never looked forward to when you spend a good portion of your life flying flying around the world. The first few time you fly are the most exciting; looking down through the clouds and seeing the large cities looking more like they were made of legos than concrete and steel. You stare out of the window and it's all the entertainment you need. But after a while you shut the window you used to stare out of four hours.

On the flight to Budapest my window was open just enough so that I could see the book I was reading. The book itself was something I was very proud thinking of. After a bit of convincing I talked Fury into letting me put files into books with fake covers making them easier to read without being noticed. To the world I was reading some random romance novel when I was actually reading a detailed report on the terrorist group that called themselves Az Arany Csillag or The Gold Star and the capabilities of the technology they stole. It might have been an unnecessary measure to take to keep my cover, but in a world of espionage unnecessary measures are the one that end up usually saving your life.

There is an entire section dedicated to creating intricate, unshakable, covers. A special group of people made the lives that I found myself living out. Every scenario had to be thought of from the most thorough background search to what our dog's name is. Keeping it simple is the key. When coming up with a new identity they wouldn't change my name so far that I could forget it, but to something close so it would stick. And that's the story of how Natalie Rushman and Clark Benton were born. A couple going on a trip to Budapest for a vacation they had planned for months.

"Attention all passengers we will be going into our final descent. Please stow all items, buckle, and return your tables to their upright position. Thank you again for flying with us here at Delta." The pilot's voice called from overhead and the sign for us to all buckle our seat belts lit up.

"Ready Nat?" Clint asked snapping the belt across his lap. His clothes were so casual that it for anyone who knew him it was almost unconvincing. Blue jeans with a t shirt and zip up sweater looked strange on a man whose regular wardrobe consists of black cargo pants and jackets. He normally looks like he is always ready to go on mission, but then he like he was only ready to go to the local sports bar.

I didn't look much better though since I was basically wearing the female version of his outfit. "How many years have we known each other now?" I asked.

Clint calculated the time that we had known each other, ever since he found me in the red room. But that is a story for another time. "It's been what four years now?"

I grinned at him in an evil way. "All that time and you're still calling Nat even though you know how much I hate it. You do know I'm an assassin right?"

He chuckled lightly laying back in his seat with his eyes closed like he was about to take a nap even though we were only a few minutes from touchdown. Something you learn about Clint after working with fim for any period of time of you learn that Clint takes any amount of sleep whenever there is a moment of downtime available. "I'm aware on both accounts. But you gotta admit you like it a little."

"I don't have to admit anything." I told him. Which in it's own way answered his question. Clint has some liberties being my partner including calling me 'Nat' or 'Tasha' which if anyone else tried to do would probably end up with injuries that she would not be accounted for.

He glanced at me with a smile on his face before closing his eyes again. "Of course you don't. How did your reading go?"

I leaned a bit closer and spoke quietly so we wouldn't be overheard. "We have to find this thing Clint it can do some serious damage. I was looking at the notes on the device and not only can it take a cities as large as New York off the grid, but theoretically it can also wipe any computer in it's radius."

"Theoretically?"

"No one can test it we don't know the range of the effects. A lot of people are going in to be affected if we don't take this down." It's the missions like this that always ate away at me. These are the types of people that I used to work for as much as I hate to say it. I was a very different person four years ago.

"And we will." His confidence was unshakable as always. "Do we have a lead on where these guys are?"

I nodded opening the book so he could see the small map that was printed inside of it. "Right in the middle of city. Somewhere in a seven mile radius there is a electronic nuke that could cripple Hungary's economy."

"We won't let it get that far." The plane touched down and we pulled to the gate and Clint opened his eyes to look at me again. Once it was safe for us to stand up again Clint lazily stood up and held out a hand to help me. "Time we got started ."

"Whatever you say Clark." I took his hand and grabbed my luggage before we slowly got off the plane. "We have a reservation in a hotel at the edge of the city our room should be ready when we get there."

"You need to relax." He told me like he always does when we land down. I'm always ready to go and start the mission; slowly I've been learning to let loose of my old habits like that. "Remember what I've always said since we first met."

"When you're on the run, walk." My pace slowed down a bit and I remember having the feeling of tension leak out of me. I was way to used to starting a mission running and even after being with S.H.I.E.L.D. for four years I was on my own for a lot longer than that. This mission was a marathon, and if we were to blend in we had to assume the terrorists were on high alert looking for us to be dashing around. We had to walk.


	4. Chapter 3

This wasn't my first time in Hungary, not near it in fact. Though it was the first time I had been there for S.H.I.E.L.D.; this time I was on the right side of things. Budapest brought up a lot of unwelcome memories I was sure that it would, but I was also certain that it wouldn't compromise me enough to make me a liability. Being compromised was like poison in the spy industry.

I've been compromised before this mission and I don't doubt I will be in the future. Usually in this line of business most people haven't had the easiest of lives I haven't, Clint hasn't, and sometimes those memories can cloud our judgement. It's one of the hardest things to do admitting that you've been compromised. Last it happened the mission was too important for them to find a different team of agents take our place and Clint had to go solo. In the end he was fine, but those were some of the most terrifying weeks of my life knowing that he was out there alone. I should have been with him, but my judgement was off if I had gone something terrible might have happened because of it. This is not a world of hesitations.

What I'm trying to say is that if my past in Hungary was at all going to impede my judgement I wouldn't have gone. I'm not sure I can say that anymore.

When we were in the hotel room I must have seen distracted to Clint though. "Tasha?" He called to me since I was pretty locked in my own mind at the time. "Are you okay?"

I nodded unconvincingly. "Yeah, it's just jet lag." He didn't seem convinced but also didn't push the issue. Trusting that if I wasn't in a good stage of mind for this mission that I would have said so. "I've got the package, you do a sweep."

Reaching under our bed I pulled out the gift that S.H.I.E.L.D. had kindly left us. A large black case that was spectacularly heavy; I almost had to ask Clint to help me lift the damn thing on one of the beds. While Agent Barton started securing the room, closing the blinds checking for listening devices and such, I got to work sorting out the case filled with weapons.

Laying right on top of everything was Clint's bow that had been tailored specifically for someone of his exact stature. He treats his weapon like it is his child treating it better than I've seen most people treat their cars. I'm sure that if anything were to happen to his bow he would go on an all out rampage. So I used extra care when taking that out of the case.

Below the bow was a large quiver of arrows including many replacements in case he ran out. Then there was the guns. Everything from a small handgun to a sniper rifle that used properly and in the right conditions could shoot targets miles away. There was also a enough ammunition for a small army making sure each gun could be adequately loaded without fear of running out of bullets for a long while. Even further in there was a hardcopy of the file I had read, money, multiple passports, and our combat suits.

"They gave us all the toys on this one." Clint said admiring the armory that I had laid out on his bed. Immediately he went to his bow and checked it for any signs of damage. He was so intent I could help but laugh slightly. "What?" He asked defensively. "I don't trust those grunts. The last time they packed it the string almost snapped."

"I thought you were going to make that guy cry. I've never seen you that angry before." The sight was both scary and hilarious watching him call some newbie who stored his precious bow wrong. Clint personally chose a small group of people who he believes are capable to store his weapon.

"I've never been that angry before. Not since I was a carny." It was rare to hear about Clint's days back when he was a sharpshooter. I won't go into detail since that is his story to tell, and also since I don't know very much about what happened. All I know for sure is that some bad things went down and he was going down a dangerous path until he left. S.H.I.E.L.D. found him soon after. "So where should we start looking for this thing?"

"All signs that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s collected point towards in being in the middle of the city. I've been here before so I have a good idea where they would hide something that dangerous." Budapest is a good place to hide things in, but I knew all the best places. "There's a section of sewer that caved in a back during World War II as of now it's completely safe but the government doesn't know that and restricted the area. It's isolated, underground, and the perfect place to hide a technological bomb."

"Then we'll start there tomorrow. Sleep of your jet lag." He pushed a few guns out of the way and sat in his bed. Picking up the file he started to read through it, he had slept throughout most of the plane ride so he was well rested and ready to do research.

I crawled into the other bed and watched him for a few minutes. I'm not sure why but watching him flip through the file slowly his eyes scanning each page. Every now and then he would make a mark in the file with a pen the hotel gave us. He never seemed to notice me watching him and soon enough I fell asleep.

When I woke up at about five in the morning finding that Clint had fallen asleep still sitting up with the file opened on his lap. As silently as possible I crawled out from under the thick comforter and went to take a quick shower. Once I was dressed in clothes that would make me unnoticeable in a crowd I went to go wake up my partner who was still dozing away.

Going up to him I noticed at first that he was still holding his pen over the page like he had drifted off while writing a note. The second thing was the notes themselves. Disorganized and almost illegible was his chicken scratch that covered most of the paper. If there was a method to his madness I didn't see it in the arrows and lines connecting phrases.

"Clint," I shook him slightly before switching my language from English to Russian, "time to wake up."

His reaction was expected. The second he was shaken awake he was alert enough to take action but not enough to assess that I wasn't a threat. After four years I was used to it. His arm flew out in a poorly aimed punch in my direction that if I hadn't been waiting for such an attack. I grabbed the hand that tried to strike me and pressed it into his chest letting him calm down.

After he had a few seconds to realize who I was he spoke. "Sorry Tasha."

"It's alright, no harm done." I dropped his arm and threw him some clothes I had grabbed before waking him up. "Get dressed we should get going soon."

He nodded and got dressed quickly it was barely a few minutes after he had woken up until he collapsed so it was small enough to fit into a backpack that also held enough arrows to take out a private army. "Are you ready for this?" He asked.

After cocking the handgun I had chosen and stuffing it in my waistband I replied. "Just waiting on you."

And on that note we left the hotel room and started the mission that changed everything.

* * *

**(A/N) The action starts soon. Stick with me if it's not in the next chapter it's in the one directly after that.**


	5. Chapter 4

We were walking through underground tunnel that I presumed the device would be in Clint started having some second thoughts about being in a place that looked like it could fall apart any second. "Are you sure it's safe down here?" He asked. "Cause it doesn't look safe down here."

Reassuring him did not come easily. "All the debris is packed so tightly together that it would take another bombing to make it collapse. Trust me this isn't the first time I've been down here. It's the perfect place to hide a bomb."

We rounded another corner and came up to a door that was strangely modern and stuck out like a sore thumb. With a smooth metallic casing and electronic keypad that had a red light blinking telling us the damn thing was locked. But with a little bit of training locked doors weren't a barrier just an annoyance. And after giving a smug smile to Clint that screamed 'I told you so' I easily hacked the door.

Inside was a pedestal of sorts made to keep the large briefcase it held off the floor, it was like a scene from a James Bond film. This is something that I've seen a lot when it comes to people hiding weapons like these. The amount of underground caves with secret rooms I've seen isn't as much shocking but disappointing.

"Does anything about this seem off to you?" Clint asked holding his bow a little bit tighter than before. With how tense he looked I wonder why we didn't get the hell out of there, he looked ready to attack. I've seen that look on him a few times before when we were in an obvious trap, but for some reason this time it flew over my head.

"What's odd about it?" I asked and when he didn't reply because he was scanning the room looking for a trap I was a little more forceful. "Clint, what's wrong?"

When he spoke it was in a whisper like to much sound would bring whatever he was on edge about. "A huge metal door in the middle of rubble with a blinking red light, one that was so easy to bypass the security they might as well just left it open. And beyond that no precautions or traps anywhere in the room. There isn't even a security camera."

On instinct my hand drifted towards the gun I had concealed pulling it out slowly. The second my hand touched the handle of the gun the door we had rented from slammed shut and the sound of multiple locks snapping shut came from the metal door. Immediately I tried shooting at the lock but all that did was send the bullet rotating back and grazing my shoulder.

I swore loudly and in many different languages as blood trailed down my right shoulder. I've obviously had worse- the bullet wasn't even inside of me. All in all that wound didn't even make the record book.

That didn't stop Clint from becoming equal parts concerned and pissed. "Nat!" He yelled at me grabbing my shoulder to halt the bleeding. "Bastards were waiting for us. I gotta blow this door down." He slipped an arrow out from the quiver hidden in his backpack and I soon recognized the tip as one of his explosive arrows.

"Don't," my voice was tight with pain but I had to stop him, "you use that arrow and this whole place could come down on top of us." For a second I could see him calculating whether it would be worth the risk, luckily he chose to drop the arrow back in his quiver. His scowl showed how much he hated it.

Soon there was a hiss as gas was let into the room. Clint probably looked as panicked as I felt running to the door trying to open it with just brute force. But soon the effects of the gas took over us both. As the world faded to black and we couldn't keep standing anymore the door opened revealing two or three people who were mostly blurs. I couldn't even fight them as they dragged me out of there.

* * *

I woken with a bucket of ice cold water getting thrown on me which is never a good way to wake up. Soaked, cold, and confused my first priority was to find Clint. I knew Clint would have my back and if he was in the general area we would be able to get out of wherever the hell we were. That's how it's always been.

When I saw him a pang of rage ignited inside of me. Like me Clint was sitting in a steel chair, but while I was bound with handcuffs he had manacles clamped around his wrist that were connected to a large chain that hanged from the ceiling. He too was soaked and shivering.

"Good to see the Black Widow has decided to join us." A deep, heavily accented, voice said behind me. The man that had spoken stepped into my line of sight and moved so he was directly behind Clint. "The Hawk and I have been waiting." His voice carried through the small concrete room we were in and his hands clamped on to Clint's shoulder making both of us tense. "I thought we would speed the process along. Sorry about the rude awakening. So let us skip the foreplay and why don't you just tell me what I want to know. For example the location of S.H.I.E.L.D. safe houses."

I didn't say anything. Training and personal experience taught me that sometimes saying nothing is better than speaking at all in these types of situations. Making statements was a bad decision and asking anything could get you a bullet in the head, or worse. Information and secrets kept you alive while telling them made you worthless.

Once it was clear that I was not going to be saying anything a strained smile appeared on his face. "I see," he said, "I guess that means we must do some foreplay after all."

He strutted over to a lever on the wall behind Clint and pushed it down. Quickly the chain around Clint's hands was brought up until there was about a foot between the hole in the ceiling where the chain and his feet were lifted from the ground. There was a quick gasp of surprise from my partner but he was composed in seconds determined not to show weakness.

"You could end this before it begins." the Hungarian man said pulling out a large hunting knife. I looked quickly at Clint who simply stared at me telling me exactly what to do. To keep quiet. The man laughed at our silent conversation. "You cannot blame me for what becomes of your partner then."

I will never forget the pain on Clint's face when the knife first cut him.

* * *

**(A/N) The beginning of the chapter feels a little shaky to me (I'll probably rewrite it) but I enjoy the ending. Thoughts?**


	6. Chapter 5

"That must have been hard." commented casually. His face was calm as if he wasn't at all affected by what Natasha had told him. "Seeing your partner being tortured like that and not being able to do anything to help him."

Natasha shrugged like it was less of a deal to her than it actually was. "It's not the first time that's happened either. And honestly those morons couldn't interrogate a child into telling them what their favorite color is."

"Even still you care for Agent Barton; seeing him in pain while not being trapped and unable to do anything must have been frustrating to say the least." As he spoke the doctor noticed a small smile form on the russians lips. "Did I miss something?"

Natasha leaned back in her chair her sly smile added a cocky tone to her body language. "Who said I was trapped?"

* * *

Watching Clint being tortured was something I'll never be comfortable witnessing even though he made it easy for me. Never once have I ever heard him scream in agony the most he did was flinch away from the blade. His eyes never met mine so I couldn't see any pain he was in and he never spoke a word. But even someone who was a trained covert operative for a secret agency there is only so much pain the mind can take before it snaps. The way that this moron was going at it though we could last through days of this.

But there was no way in hell I was going to let this go on. Even though Clint wasn't showing his pain in full I knew how much it was hurting him to be hanging from the ceiling like that- his toes not even touching the ground. Whoever built the handcuffs that bound me knew what they were doing though even so I didn't want to make the first move. Not with Clint so close to a lunatic with a knife.

"Just tell me the location of one safe house and this will end." The Hungarian promised waiting for Clint to do, or say, anything. Anger was evident in his entire body when my partner did nothing but keep his head down, though I could hear him mumbling something. "What's that?" The man grabbed a handful of Clint's hair and pulling his head up. He put his ear next to Clint's mouth so he could hear what he thought was the information he asked for.

What he didn't expect was for the second when his ear got near Clint's mouth was for the tortured man to bite his ear. Our captor screamed and pulled away holding his ear protective. "_You son of a bitch," _he yelled in hungarian, "_you will pay for this._"

Clint simply smiled at the cursing man with blood stained teeth before spitting some of the red liquid from his mouth onto the man's face. I almost laughed at the whole event. Clint was being far more theatrical than he needed to be- something he would pay for.

Our Hungarian friend was livid and looked ready for revenge. So with a smile of his own crossing his face in a way that seemed all but unnatural I watched as he slowly twirled the knife in his hands. Walking behind me the man placed his knife on my collarbone in a teasing sort of manner. Clint tensed. I stayed perfectly still. "_I wonder what the Itsy Bitsy Spider would do without her Hawk?"_

Without warning the blade was taken off of my neck and thrown across the room into Clint's left shoulder. He grunted with the impact of the knife and a sound like a strangled cry came from him. Pulling at my handcuffs was next to useless but I didn't stop. I'm not sure of the exact words that I said were but I know that they went along the lines of 'I will kill you slowly and painfully.'

The Hungarian didn't say anything to but but he kept laughing. His thundering chuckles were fuel to the fire that burned in me like the sun. As he exited the room he started singing some hungarian folk song I didn't know whilst going up to my injured partner and pulling the knife viciously from his shoulder.

He tossed the knife stained with Clint's blood on the floor letting it land with a clatter. "I'll give you time to think. Try not to think too long though." Again he laughed as the metal door closed behind him.

The second he was gone all of the emotion I was holding in came out in fear. "Clint!" I called only to be answered by a small whimper of pain. "Clint talk to me."

"This sucks." He complained lifting his head of his chest like it was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. For some unknown reason he smiled at me with blood still on his teeth which made him look psychotic. "Next time Phil says that we are going to have a simple mission I'm going to do something very regrettable."

Humor was a bad sign. That meant he found the situation dire enough for him to need to distract himself with cheesy one liners. I needed to stop the bleeding that was all that was important but first I needed to get out of the cuffs that bound me. I was wincing before I dislocated my thumb.

Slipping out of the cuffs after that was easy, albeit painful. But at that moment I could have cared less about an injured thumb. I stood up so quickly that if my chair hadn't been welded to the floor it would have tipped over. The lever on the wall was my target and I reached it in record time bringing Clint down from the ceiling; not as slowly and gently as I would have hoped though. Instead he came crashing down into the chair below him leaving Clint groaning in pain with tears in his eyes.

"Clint?" I kneeled in front of him and held my injured friend. I applied pressure to his shoulder to stop the blood flow but he didn't make any noise or flinch away from my hand. "Clint! Wake up now!" No matter what I yelled and how loud I yelled it Clint didn't wake up.

* * *

**(A/N) Getting pretty intense and I still haven't even touched the full plot line yet.**


	7. Chapter 6

I had to get him awake that's all that mattered. But no matter how many times I yelled his name or slapped his face he wouldn't open his eyes, his breathing was getting labored. A multitude of different swears in about as many languages raced out of my mouth as I searched the room for anything to get him awake. My eyes scanning the room while tying a tourniquet around his shoulder to cut the circulation off.

In the corner there was a small metal table with different knives and even a cattle prod laying on top of the steel surface. What caught my eye was a little box with the word adrenaline written on the side in sharpie. An old parlor trick in the art of extracting information was when the person you are torturing ends up on the brink of death was to shoot them with adrenaline. It was painful and disorienting to go through after being beaten to the point of dying, but right then I needed Clint functioning enough to get out of that hole.

I grabbed a syringe before pocketing the metal box since I had no idea how long the symptoms would last and I couldn't have Clint crashing halfway to safety. Ripping off the plastic covering from the needle I kneeled besides my partner and whispered an apology for what I was about to do. The needle was large and went far into his arm; wasting no time I pushed the clear liquid into his body.

His eyes opened near immediately and a cry of shock came from the bottom of his throat. Fight or flight kicked in and he took a swing at me not sure who I was. Even with the adrenaline Clint was still weakened from blood loss which made it easy for me to grab his arm and push it into his chest so he was essentially hugging himself. A look like an injured animal was in his eye, scared, confused, and pained.

"It's okay Clint it's me." I was as loud as I dared- not wanting to scare him to badly or alert anyone who might walk past that door.

Clint on the other hand probably didn't even think of anyone who was on the other side of the door, but his voice was muted with the pain that raged through him. "Nat?" He asked me, "Nat what the hell did you do?"

I showed him the empty syringe before putting it in my pocket- I've learned the hard way what can happen if you leave something with your DNA on it lying around. "It's adrenaline," I told him, "you fell unconscious and we can't stay here."

"You sure I can't get a few minutes shut eye?" He joked even as I helped him to a standing position. His balance was a bit off but for a man who had just been tortured and stabbed I thought he was doing pretty good.

"Only if you want to bleed out." We walked slowly out of the the room which our kidnapper had foolishly left unlocked in his haste to treat his bleeding ear. "Good thinking biting his ear by the way." I commented as we carefully made our way down a long hall.

"Thanks." He said with a small smile as he remembered his trick. "I thought that would get my message out very clearly." We passed by a room that had the door opened just a crack but that was enough for Clint to see what was inside. "Tasha, my bow."

I peaked in to see his prized possession laying on a table. There was no way in hell we could have just left our only weapon behind, especially when it was that one. Even with an injured arm Clint could do some major damage with that. We took every procation in retrieving the bow and arrows, checking for traps and security cameras. And after disabling a bomb that would have blown us to bits the second we lifted the bow from where it rested Clint had his weapon back. I even found a few of my guns lying in a corner. Now we were both armed, pissed, and ready to get the hell out of there.

There was shout from the cell we had just escaped. A fast order was given and I knew they had found an empty cell with two missing assassins. We had to move because at that point I could hear the sounds of boots hitting the floor running towards exactly where we were.

"We have to go now." I told Clint wrapping an arm around his chest and helping him out of the weapon room and down the hall again. The footsteps were nearly on us and I tried to get Clint to go faster but he was already losing energy from the adrenaline I had given him and I didn't have time to give him another dose.

"Nat grab one of my arrows." Clint ordered. I looked at him like he was insane. "He stabbed the arm I draw back with I need you to help me with this." He reached with his good arm to his quiver that was on my back, he couldn't carry at the moment it for obvious reasons. The one he pulled it out had an abnormally thick head and small red lights around tip. With one hand he notched the arrow like he had done it a thousand times. He motioned for me to grab the string and pull back. I remember how hard it was to pull back the thick bow string. It took all the strength from both of my arms pulling on it to bring the cord so it was next to Clint's ear.

"Let go when I tell you to." Clint adjusted the bow aiming to the ceiling at the end of the hall. "Wait for it." He told me as my arms began to tremble slightly from the weight of the bow string. The footsteps were just around the corner and Clint smiled. "Now."

I dropped the sting and the arrow soared through the air and hit it's target perfectly. Once the guards had rounded the corner the explosive tip in the arrow went off causing the roof to fall on top of them.

"Damn Barton, how do you pull that thing." I asked him shaking the pain out of my hands. A large red line formed on my fingers where I has held the bow.

He shrugged though winced after from stressing his wounds. "You get used to it." He replied like it was no big deal. "We should get out of here." He turned to leave when suddenly a large thunk sounded and Clint fell to his hands and knees. Somehow a guard had snuck up on us and hit my already injured partner.

For the life of me I can't imagine the look of anger I must have had in my eyes in that moment. The guard looked terrified of what laid in my eyes. I never gave him the time to breath before I pulled out my gun with a flourish and emptied a clip into his chest methodically. Never blinking nor trembling.

The guards look of pain and terror stayed on his face as his body crumpled to the ground. Life had left him before he had even touched the floor. He was younger than I was. I'm ashamed to stay how quickly I put the guard in the back of my mind and put all attention towards Clint. It was like someone had flicked a switch in me changing all thought from the kid I had just killed to my partner who was trying to push himself to a standing position.

"Come on Clint we gotta go." I told him while helping him up as gently as I could. The back of his head was bleeding lazily from where the guard had hit him with the butt of a handgun. He was slow at getting moving but after a few clumsy steps we got to moving at a slow yet workable pace.

The warehouse or we were in was a maze though and it took us around ten minutes to escape. Any guards who got in our way weren't as lucky as we were when we finally found the exit.

Outside it was cold and raining we were immediately soaked through our clothes and to our skin. After a few minutes we were shivering pushing ourselves against the cold wind. I knew that we had to find some kind of shelter and soon or else hypothermia would sink in. I wasn't going to let that happen to us.


	8. Chapter 7

A few miles and shots of adrenaline later and we came up to a small bar that sat on the side of a back road leading to nowhere. I'm not a religious person but in that moment I found myself thanking every god I could think of that the bar was a relativly busy for being in the middle of nowhere. I found the most dependable car I could find and hot wired it in seconds. The car was a dark green Cadillac with a few dents in the framing but I was being overly picky at the time.

Clint, who was still riding an adrenaline high got into the car with ease even with his wounds getting pulled everytime he so much as moved. There was stiffness when he moved even though he tried to hide it I could see the way his face tightend when ever he moved. As we drove I took extra percautioin to avoid any pot holes or bumps in the road.

The road was dirt and gravel though and was uneven at best. It was impossible to excape every bump or dip in the path that passed of as a road and every now and then I was reminded of that when the car suddenly jerked up and down. Each time I found myself swearing under my breath and glancing over to check if my partner was alright.

Honestly I have to hand it to Clint because for the most part of that entire ride he didn't make any indictation of being in pain. It wasn't for half an hour drving in crap conditions and being soaked with cold water that the heater of the car couldn't remedy that he let out the smallest noise of discomfort.

"Just hang in there Clint." I took a hand of the wheel and gripped his firmly. Both of our hands were cold at the time but his skin felt artic from blood loss. With surprising strength he gripped my hand like it was a lifeline- the only thing he needed to stay conciouss. I didn't complain.

That was the longest car ride of my life and yet it took less than twenty minutes at the speed I was going in that moment, but with when there are only two people in the world you trust fully and one of them is bleeding out next to you time does weird things. Every second was grossly stretched out by the fear that infected me. Time and perception play hand in hand something that could be either make life hell or heaven. In that moment it was pretty clear which I was feeling.

I don't know how long it took but finally we got a hotel that was far enough away from the place were being held where I felt comfortable laying low there for a few days. Honestly I would have liked to get further but Clint was running on empty since we got in that old Cadillac. I didn't want to give him anymore adrenaline since for fear of sending him into shock. Also his quickened heart rate would only push blood out of him quicker.

After parking our stolen car I helped Clint form the passenger seat and to the lobby of a small hotel a few miles into Budapest. Sudden happiness came over me when I noticed our clothes would do a marvelous job hiding the blood that covered us. It's the little things in life, you know? Still with his black clothes Clint's shirt was in shambles it was obvious that he had been tortured and we didn't need anyone asking questions. So I left him leaning against the doorway where I could still see him but his injuries weren't on show for the world to see.

The man at the desk of the Napkelte hotel had to be over fifty years old with the wrinkles and age spots on his skin, but his smile was young and innocent. His name was Miksa Abram. "Welcome!" He cheered good, yet clumsy, english as I entered immediately treating me like a queen. "How many rooms will you be needing?"

"One will be fine." I told him. My fingernails tapped the counter rhythmically, a russian waltz that I had danced to over a thousand times back in my the days of the Red Room. It was a nervous habit to tap out the three-four rhythm compulsively. It made my anxiety plain.

The owner looked at e then over my shoulder a Clint who looked pale as death. His eyes drifted to the floor around Clint where drips of scarlet drops of blood littered the floor. I was certain he would kick us out there and then.

"You two look like the devil's been chasing you." He noted. Feeling under the counter for a little while Miksa pulled a key out and held it out to me. "Room 115. and if the devil comes looking I'll tell him I sent you off."

I was at a loss for words. This man who I had no idea who was put his neck on the line for me- something only one person had done before and he was bleeding out on the hotel floor. "Thank you." I said before grabbing out a hundred dollars that I always kept with me when on missions since you can never know when you will need it. "This is all I can give you."

The man raised his hands and shook his head refusing my payment. "You keep that. I don't like bullies and I have a good strong business. Having one room filled without payment for a little while will not hurt me." Miksa nodded over to CLint with a grim expression on his wrinkled face. "You should go help your friend. Don't worry about the mess he made I will take care of that."

I nodded my understanding and pocketed the precious hundred dollar bill before nearly running over to Clint.

He looked drained and pale. His near grey eyes were out of focus and didn't even notice me coming up to him. Gently I wrapped an arm around his back- making him jump slightly before he realised it was me. To anyone who wasn't looking hard enough we probably looked like a normal couple while I was actually just trying to move him as carefully as possible.

"Did you get us a room?" Clint muttered as we slowly made our way across the lobby leaving dots of blood as our trail. Thinking back on how weak his voice was makes my stomach drop he sounded lost.

"Yep," I was calm and confident in one but I could feel my hands shake slightly. I blamed the cold. "Just a little further," I promised, "then you can rest for the rest of the night."

Clint was unnecessarily troubled by that promise. "No, I should help." He told me even though there was nothing for him to help with. An exhaustion based delirium was starting to kick in.

"You are," I lied, "don't worry." That was all I could do to comfort him. Lie and rub his back encouraging every step he took closer to our room. Glancing over my shoulder I saw Miksa pulling a mop out from a supply closet getting ready to clean up the dirtied floor.

When he caught me looking at me he smiled kindly before calling, "there's a first aid kit under the sink."

I didn't know what to say again. His kind eyes were void were clear of conflict and filled with innocence that he threatened by having Clint and me in any proximity to him. So again I said what first came to mind and what would never be enough for him. I said, "thank you."


	9. Chapter 8

Clint was nearly about to pass out when I got him into the room. At that point I didn't want to sit him in the bathroom to work on stitching him up because I was pretty sure he was going to pass out sooner rather than later. So while balancing Clint who swayed like a boat on rough seas I grabbed the plastic shower curtain and first aid kit from the bathroom before leading my injured partner to the large worn looking bed. After I had quickly spread the plastic sheet over the bed to keep any blood off the comforter I tried to lower my partner on down as painlessly as possible.

Even though I tried lowering him as carefully and slowly as I could manage halfway down his body gave up on him and he dropped onto the soft mattress. His breathing was pained coming out in huffs, and his eyes were screwed shut trying to focus on anything other than what he was feeling. Pulling up the large plush chair I sat next to him setting the open first aid kit on the nightstand next to me.

I looked for anything resembling a painkiller that I could give him but the best I had at the time was a bottle of advil which was still a thousand times better than nothing. As quick as I could I got him a bowl and a glass of water- the bowl for later- and shook two tablets from the bottle into my hand.

"Clint," I stirred him gaining a disinterested look from his clouded grey eyes. "I need you to take these they'll help with the pain." I showed him the medicine sitting in my hand.

"No," he refused with a firm tone. "No drugs. They mess with my aim." Painfully he shoved my hand away getting the message across that he was not going to be taking any medication of any kind. But I would have been damned if I were to give up there.

"Clint Barton you will take these right now or I will shove them down your throat. Don't believe I wouldn't." My threat was only partially empty. I didn't even wait for him to turn me down since he thought he was invisible and while that was great in interrogations I had no time for i when I was trying to patch him up.

So I put my hand on his back and helped my pained partner to a sitting position before giving him the drugs that wouldn't erase his pain but I was just hoping that they would make it more bearable. Laying him back down I got to cutting his shirt away from his abused chest. Many areas of the grey cotton shirt were stuck to the cuts on his chest- dried blood makes a wonderful adhesive. I applied cold water to the dried blood and began the slow process of removing the glued on shirt and cleaning the many wounds that covered his torso.

Most were shallow and had healed mostly on their own. But there was one that went from his shoulder to just below his navel that was deep enough to require stitches. It was long and gagged but it still was second on my priority list of injuries to sew up. The wound on his shoulder wasn't bleeding as much as it had been when I checked it when we first got in the car and had resolved into a slow trickle.

When I pushed a pressure bandage on his shoulder Clint let out a groan. Not like a whimper that slipped out by accident, but a full out protest of pain. Either his dissolve was running out or he realised that there was no need to hide his pain anymore. I apologized but didn't let up until the blood flow was officially halted and remove the tourniquet. I cleaned the wound and got to work stitching. Thanking everything that the first aid kit was well stocked.

An hour later Clint finally fell to sleep, or unconsciousness I didn't know and I didn't care as long as he was resting. How he was stayed conscious that long was unknown to me but Clint was always a stubborn idiot. When we had first met he proved that to me by not only letting me live but convincing a girl who thought she could survive on her own without any help to join a covert agency. A team none the less. That particular instance of bull headed stubbornness I could live with, but having him follow my every move with clouded eyes while I stitched him up was not only extremely irritating but worrying.

The disinterest he showed me looked like, even with his eyes open, he was unconscious in every way that mattered. Yet he seemed unable to close his unfocused eyes and rest like I wanted him to. You can imagine my relief when I looked up from the last of many rows of stitches that I had tied all over his torso to see Clint's eyes closed and his breathing steady.

There was only one wound left to check at that point, the head wound that guard had given him. I already knew Clint had a concussion there wasn't even a need to check for one, Clint never halfassed his injuries. With all the care I could muster I lifted his battered body and moved him so he was leaning on my in a way that he would be comfortable as possible yet I could still see the wound on the back of his head.

The cut was messy and covered in dried blood like every other wound he had. I made short work of cleaning the wound and dressing it. Not the worst head wound I've ever seen by far. Definitely not the worst I've seen on Clint.

After I laid him back down and checked for any injuries I had missed I made short work on my own. There was nothing extensive about my injuries like there had been with Clint's. Just regular cuts and bruises that I probably got from being moved while drugged.

With all of our injuries taken care of and I was certain that Clint's breathing and pulse were steady I pulled my chair to the corner of the small room where I had a direct line of sight to the doorway. I turned out the lights and settled myself in the dark corner of the room waiting for whoever dared to go through it. Because with an injured partner and a gun resting on my knee whoever tried to pass the threshold would find death on the other side.


	10. Chapter 9

It wasn't until the sun started to rise and the small room filled with pale light that Clint started to stir. The second the light touched his face he woke up, a habit that he and I both have picked up over the years. There was nothing graceful about him waking up it was fast and sharp met with heavy breaths as his now focused eyes tried to figure out where he was. Quick as lighting his hand wrapped around the hilt of a knife he kept with him at all times and brandished it in front of himself while coming to a sitting position without thinking of the pain it would cause.

I was on my feet and at his side before the pain even registered for him. But the second he felt it I was there to stop him from falling back on the mattress to heavily. I put a lot of care into those stitches and I would have been damned if he popped them from lying down too hard. Confusion still held him and he took my small act as a threat a swung the knife up at me. Lucky for me his knife was held with his injured arm and was easy to block. Though I have had instances where I was not so lucky and found myself with a cut or worse.

"You're fine." I told him and watched as the fear faded from his intensely focused eyes. "We got away, remember?" He nodded and I released the arm. "How do you feel?"

His reaction was expected since I was answered with a dry, sarcastic, laugh. "Like sunshine and rainbows." He propped himself on his elbows and looked around the room taking in every detail in seconds. "The hell are we?"

"Napkelte Inn." I told him. "Small place that no one should come looking in for a while."

"Napkelte," he translated the name in his head quickly. "That's cute. So when do you think I can get back on the road."

I thought about that for a moment thinking about how well his shoulder would hold, calculations I've made a hundred times before. "Give it a few more hours," I said, "I wish I could give you more, but the circumstance we found ourselves in doesn't really allow it."

"Speaking of circumstance how the hell did we even get in this one?" He sat up a bit more so he was leaning on the headboard and looked me dead in the eye. "They were ready for us. Whoever that asshole was knew we were going to be there, someone told him."

I had been thinking the exact same thing all night. Right from the start this mission was set against us. Everything from the gas that knocked us out to me knowing about that damn tunnel felt like it had been carefully orchestrated. But what Clint was implying was huge. Only a few people knew that we would be in this part of the world at that time and they all worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Clint if what you're saying is true then that means that either Fury or Phil set us up." I warned him because this was a huge can of worms that we were about to open and if we were both sure of his than we were about to unleash hell on S.H.I.E.L.D. itself.

"Phil wouldn't do this." Clint said dangerously. I can still see the anger in his eyes from me even implying that our handler was remotely involved. Like Clint had saved me, Phil had saved Clint from a dangerous path. They were like brothers and Clint trusted him in a way that you can only gave for someone who saved you from yourself.

"Neither would Fury. We may piss him off but he wouldn't sell us out to some Hungarian with a knife collection." I told him. Nick and Phil were all we have at S.H.I.E.L.D. and we couldn't believe either of them would do anything to harm us.

"Obviously he would go Chinese, they aren't as sloppy." A smirk pushed its way past Clint's pained features. "Seriously though the question isn't who knew we were here as much as who put us here."

"Peterson? A councilman tried to have us killed?" In that moment I could feel the pieces slide together like a puzzle. The council didn't care what missions we took unless they had a substantial impact on the world as a whole. An economic crisis in a single country was bad, but not enough for a councilman to get involved. I should have known.

Clint nodded. "I don't know why but its the only logical explanation."

"An explanation, yes. But how logical is it that we pissed of the council enough that they would send us on a fake mission to be tortured for information before being ultimately killed?"

He didn't get answer for there was a knock at the door that made us both pause. Clint moved the knife to his other, stronger, hand and pushed himself up and off the bed. He wavered for a second but found equilibrium.

I put my gun in front of me aiming at the door as I neared it. Without warning the door opened and I got ready to pull the trigger and kill whoever tried to enter. I was not expecting to see a pair of wrinkled hands come through the barely opened door. One held a brown paper bag and the other was open to show it was unthreatening.

"Don't shoot." The voice was easy to recognize as the one of the owner of the hotel. And as he pushed the door opened a bit more he stuck his head into the room looking slightly scared, but he did a good job covering it. "I brought you something." He held up her bag and I heard the familiar sound of pils rattling around. As he slowly entered the room his eyes fixed of Clint who was leaning heavily on a wall. "You look better."

"Tasha?" Clint asked since he clearly remembered nothing from what happened after we had escaped.

"It's fine," I assured him and some of the tension in his posture faded. I turned to the hotel owner and motioned for him to get in the room. Which he did before closing the door behind him . "What's in the bag?"

He reached into quick for Clint's liking since he either didn't remember the kindness the man had previously shown us or he didn't care. Either way his knife was held higher and firmer and the old man moved slower as he pulled out the bottle of pills I heard.

"Pain killers. The ones in that kit are- how do you americans say- pieces of shit." He tossed them to me and I caught them with ease.

I stared at the painkillers for a long moment before looking back at the man who started to exit our room. "Why do you keep helping us?" I asked before I could stop myself.

He seemed shocked by my question like it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world. "I've told you already miss_. _I don't like bullies. If you need anything just dial the front desk and ask for Miksa Abram." He smiled kindly before turning to leave.

I turned to Clint who looked confused by the exchange but when he saw that I trusted him he let his doubts go. In the end he just shrugged like he could care less. "He seems nice."


	11. Chapter 10

I don't think that the phone rang twice before Coulson picked up my call. "Is the line secure?" Normally people answered phone calls with 'hello' or 'who is this' but the number that I had called was one that there was going to be no question on who was on the other end since only three people in the world knew these phones existed. It's an unspoken rule of intelligence work to have a everything-goes-to-crap phone.

"It's secure." I told him with my voice low so there was no chance of being overheard in anyway. "What about your end? Are you alone?"

"I will be right now." There was a sound of a door closing over the line. "There better be a damn good reason I'm standing in a broom closet Natasha. And I mean make nuclear war look like childs play."

"Councilmen Peterson is trying to kill us." I told him like I was ripping a band aid off. For a long time there was no noise on the other end of the line which for me in the current situation I was in silence just made me nervous. "Phil?"

"I'm here Romanoff, just give me minute to process this." There was a few more seconds of silence followed by a sigh heavier than the core of the sun. "What the fuck Natasha?"

"I know." I said keeping my voice level even though at the moment my mind was on red alert.

"Do you?" Coulsons voice was strained as he processed the six words that probably gave him a stress ulcer on spot. Not that he didn't already get them regularly working with Clint and me. "You're talking about treason. Not only that but you are accusing someone above me, above Nick, of trying to kill our two best operatives in the history of this organization since Captain America."

"That's a real compliment coming from the leader of his fan club." Coulsons love for Captain America runs deep. Clint and I have both played part in expanding the collection of vintage trading cards he has of his childhood hero.

"This isn't a time to joke around Nat." His eye roll translated through the phone. "Where's Clint?"

I looked to where Clint rested on the bed getting as much rest as he possibly could before we went on the run again. "He's resting. Like I said Petersons trying to have us killed, but of course the person who was hired to killed us couldn't do that without a bit of old fashioned torture."

"How bad?" He asked.

"Alot of cuts on his chest, a stab wound on his left shoulder, and a concussion." I listed off the top of my head. "He tried convincing me he wasn't that bad before I shoved some antibiotics down his throat along with some painkillers."

"Do you think he's going to last?"

I nodded even though he obviously couldn't see my silent approval. "He's done more with worse. His balance may be shot, but it's not like we have much of a choice in reaching out for help right now."

"Alright." Some of the tension left his voice. "I'm coming over there."

"No." I told him being as firm in my command as he was with his. "The second you leave is the second Peterson knows something is up. Now I don't think that the man who grabbed us told Peterson that we escaped."

"And why wouldn't he?"

"You know how the council can be when they don't get there way. They've mastered the fine art of starring at you like they know the name of the best assassin to take care of you the second you fuck up." It isn't normal for me to joke in these kinds of situations but I was exhausted. "And if he hasn't told Peterson that means we are a step ahead of him and the second you get on a plane to Hungry he knows that we suspect him and he disappears, and if he is truly trying to kill us losing the restrictions of a council chair would only make him more savage."

Coulson let out a puff of laughter. "You forget I was a field operative once upon a time. I can get to Budapest without Peterson getting suspicious. Give me fifteen hours, are you in a location were you can wait that long?"

In that moment I could literally feel myself climbing up the walls of the small hotel room. "Shouldn't be a problem, but Phil try and make it fourteen. I don't want to stick around here for longer than we have to."

"Just try to hang in there. Let Clint recover and tell him the plan when he wakes up. Also keep an eye on that concussion and ask him to try and throw a coin in a cup across the room to see if his aim is shot. I'll be there in fifteen hours."

"Fourteen." I reminded before hanging up. This started the longest fourteen and a half hours of my life.

* * *

**(A/N) Sorry it's a bit short but this chapter felt pretty complete even with its length. Also I don't know if treason is a hundred percent the right word for what the councilmen is doing. I asked a few people and did some research on the meaning of treason and I kinda feel like the ight word is on the edge of my tongue but I can't get it. So if you know the word I'm looking for don't hesitate to tell me. Thanks for that and for reading!**


	12. Chapter 11

put up a hand to stop Natasha as he reached for a second file. "Now Agent Phil Coulson has been your handler for a little over two years now. Am I correct?"

She nodded. "Yes, originally he was Clint, I mean Agent Barton's, handler. But when Agent Barton took me into S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Coulson was assigned to me."

Hall waved her off throwing the file down exasperated. "Enough with the formalities, please. These are people that you have been working with closely for two years, and I am not a superior looking for a debrief. Okay?"

Natasha analyzed the doctor carefully before agreeing.

looked relieved and picking up a separate file heavily marked with words in large red font with sayings such as 'CLASSIFIED' and 'SENSITIVE INFORMATION' on the front as well as the word 'HAWKEYE' in the same bold font. Natasha recognized the file immediately as her partners. "It says here that Clint Barton was sent to kill you."

"He was," her mind flashed back to pouring rain and an arrow pointed at her eye, "he made a different call and brought me in as an asset for S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Even though he was under express orders that you were not to be taken alive under any circumstances. It also says that he was suppose to use extreme prejudice, do you know what that means?"

"It means that he was suppose to kill me without thinking twice." Natasha looked down at her hands that were collapsed in her lap.

"But here you are. Clint Barton is, aside from you, this agencys best agent. Loyal to a fault. So tell me why did he let you live when he had orders from the director himself to kill you?"

Natasha shrugged her eyes still focused on her hands that didn't fidget in anxiety or any other emotion that she had spent years removing from her body language. "He thought twice."

nodded his understanding. "Of course I already know all of this. I spoke with him after he brought you in to see if you had brainwashed him or something. That man is so loyal I would love to meet the person who could turn him against those he cares about. Then again I'm already looking at the woman."

Natasha looked up suddenly her eyes wide and confused. "What are you implying?"

The doctor smiled at her reaction. "Nothing at all. Now, please, continue with your story."

* * *

Like I said that fourteen hours was excruciating. After talking to Phil I woke up Clint and checked his aim which even with a huge concussion was still miles ahead of what I could pull of in his state, or any state. Clint Barton is the best marksmen I have ever seen a skill he's procured after years of training and natural skill. His natural aim is where he got the name Hawkeye from, though that is a story he can tell.

But like I said fourteen hours waiting in a hotel room is the most painful thing I have ever done. Time seemed to move slower just in spite of me wanting it to speed up. Clint slept through most of which, something worrying with his concussion but I woke him up frequently to make sure that he was still coherent and kept making him throw a quarter around the room at different objects to make sure that he was not only thinking clearly but efficiently. But other than those few minutes every hour that Clint was awake and talking I was completely alone in that hotel room. Miksa didn't visit again so what time I had was spent gathering information on Peterson.

That was easier said than done when the person you are investigating you can't google search. To the world beyond S.H.I.E.L.D. the council didn't exist, nor did the people in it. Something that was good for their safety but bad when one of them is trying to kill you. So needless to say most of the information that I could gather was the little knowledge of him that I had. It didn't even fit on the small notecard that was sitting on the nightstand. But wracking my mind for information on Peterson and trying to come up with a game plan for how to deal with him passed the time a little faster.

Fourteen hours and fifteen minutes later my phone rang. The first ring didn't even get to end before I answered. "You're late." I said.

When he replied I could here the smug grin on his face like he had planned that I would say that. "Sorry, line for customs was longer than I thought and I wanted to wait until I was out of the airport to call." A tone of seriousness came back in his voice. "How's Clint?"

"Other than some balance issues he's fine. His wounds didn't get infected so I think that if we keep those clean and wrapped he'll be fine enough to keep going."

Coulson sighed, apparently he had been worried that his best friend had died while he had been on the plane. "That's good," he said. "There's a farmers market about five miles south of the middle of the city, sound like a good place to meet?"

I calculated the time it would take for us to get there quickly. "Meet you there in an hour at most. If we don't get there ten minutes after midnight, pack your stuff and get out of here."

I didn't give him a chance to argue and closed the phone right away going to wake up Clint who had fallen asleep again. After his earlier abrupt waking I had taken all the weapons he had hidden in his uniform, he could still easily kill me without them but it would be harder in his current state.

"Clint," I whispered shaking his uninjured shoulder. My stomach dropped when he didn't have an immediate reaction. "Clint?" I tapped his face lightly and got a small grimace of annoyance. "Hey, wake up right now."

He moaned and I could feel the iron hand that had gripped my stomach realize as his eyes slid open. "No need to be so loud." He complained.

Lightly I punched his shoulder. "_Idiot_." I switched to Russian as relief made my mind lapse into it's native language. I soon corrected myself. "Don't do that again. You hear me?"

He nodded but looked confused at my orders. "I'll just act like I know what you're talking about and skip straight to why you woke me up. Again."

I didn't want to drop what had just happened since his concussion was obviously a bigger problem than I had thought if it had taken away his normal split second reaction to coming out of sleep. I also didn't want to worry him unnecessarily so I skipped right to what I had woken him up for. "Coulson's plane just touched down. We have to go meet him."

Immediately he perked up happy to hear that Phil had made it safely. Apparently they were both worried for each other. "We should get going then." He pushed himself upright wavering slightly before composing himself.

"Take it easy." I advised though he ignored me and went about standing up which was a struggle even with my help.

"I've taken it easy since we got here." He looked down at his grey undershirt that laid in pieces on the side table that it was placed on after my impromptu first aid. He placed a hand on his bare chest as if noticing for the first time that he wasn't wearing his shirt. "I should get a new one of those probably."

"That would probably be best. Though I got to say this isn't a bad look on you." I smirked at him while I grabbed a shirt that I had 'liberated' from one of the neighboring rooms while Clint was unconscious. It was a simple dark purple t-shirt and, if my estimate was correct, just Clint's size.

He grinned and laughed a bit at my comment. "So that's what you go for, huh? Shirtless, bleeding, and concussed?"

"Not specifically in that order." I winked at him and through the shirt which he caught after fumbling with it in the air a bit. For a man with near perfect aim and hand eye coordination he can't catch anything to save his life. "Get dressed, we're on the road in five minutes."

"Yes, ma'am." He mock saluted before pulling the shirt on in a painfully slow process. I would have helped him but I knew that he could handle it, also that he would never let me help him do something as simple as putting a shirt on. He could be dying and he would refuse help doing mundane tasks.

After a quick clean up of the room, gathering the weapons and removing any fingerprints or dna, we were gone. Miksa waved to us as we left wishing us good fortune. A part of me wished to never see him again. I know what happened to people who get close to me and give me favors and I didn't want that for him. But still I told him that I hoped we saw each other again out of kindness.

Next Clint and I were in a new stolen car driving to a farmers market.

* * *

**(A/N) That was longer than expected, this chapter just kinda flowed. Anyways my friend asked me to write a one shot for her, more like she told me about something and I said give me 'til friday. So basically it's if the Winter Soldier, pre TWS, was sent to kill Coulson and failed because Coulson is epic in every way. Basically a crack!fic but if you want to see it just PM me or leave a review for it. Also I'm always open for one shot requests if you got them if any one is interested think some up and I'll have more info on what that would look like with tomorrows chapter.**


	13. Chapter 12

The farmers market was considerably smaller than I had originally believed it would be. Something that would make it easier to find Phil but make it harder to slip into a crowd if we needed to hide. Something that was also considerably harder when you took into account that it was near midnight when were there and not many people were shopping at that time. But with a turn of luck there was a duffel bag in the back of the car we had taken that Clint could store his bow in so the few people around us wouldn't get freaked out by the intimidating looking weapon and we wouldn't have to risk leaving it in the car.

First thing we did was get food. At that point we had both had sadly little since we had gotten of the plane and started that nightmare of a mission. So we both ate what at that point felt like the best food we had ever tasted as we scanned the crowd for our handler. A task that proved simple due to the late hour.

We all spotted each other at the same time I almost didn't recognize Phil when I saw him though. He wasn't wearing his usual suit and instead had jeans and a casual short sleeve shirt to blend in with the crowd. His sunglasses were the only things that seemed to make the cut when he had been deciding what would help him mix with the crowd easiest. When Clint saw him he burst out laughing and went to meet Coulson halfway.

"I wish I had a camera." Clint remarked with a tone of awe as he inspected Phil's clothes. "A casual Phil Coulson who knew that was even possible? It feels wrong even saying the words 'casual' and 'Phil Coulson' in the same sentence."

"Desperate times." Phil said and I imagined that he was glaring behind his shades even though there was a smile on his face. "How are you doing?"

Clint shrugged off the question, even though the motion was interrupted by his injuries. "Been far worse. I can still shoot straight so that's a plus, though pulling back an arrow right now is going to be an adventure on it's own."

Phil looked to me to confirm if Clint was telling the truth or if he was sugarcoating it like he normally did. "He's doing a lot better than he was when we escaped."

He still didn't look convinced but still dropped the subject. "The second something feels off you tell me." Phil pointed an accusing finger at Clint who simply nodded. "Alright, let's not beat around the bush. Councilman Peterson is trying to kill you, I believe you on that, but what I don't get is why?"

"That makes three of us." I sighed. That whole situation gave me a headache, nothing about it made sense. Why kill us, with all the information I had collected on Peterson the biggest secret that I knew about him was that he was a councilmen. Not something worth killing over since about a hundred other people knew the exact same thing.

"Well it better be a hell of a good reason." Phil growled looking as pissed as he had when Clint had put whip cream in his all of his shoes. "I went through a hell of a lot of trouble to get here without anyone asking too many questions."

"How did you get here by the way?" Clint asked.

"Let's just say that there may have been a car accident involving a S.H.I.E.L.D. employee and a drunk driver that neither of them were lucky enough to survive."

"You faked your death?" I asked him. What he said was something that to this day I still can't believe. "You faked your death!" The second time was more of a statement than a question.

"I might have insinuated that I am not a hundred percent alive." Coulson shrugged like it was no big deal. I couldn't tell if I was furious with him or deeply impressed.

It was easy to tell which Clint was. "What the hell were you thinking Phil?" His voice was harsh. In all the time that I had known Clint I don't think I've ever heard him scream or shout where furious or being tortured. Even when that knife had been thrown into his chest he barley went above a startled gasp. He didn't need to yell when his tone carried all the intimidation it needed. "Why would you even think about doing something like that?"

To his credit Coulson didn't even flinch when Clint's entire body language grew rageful that was until his carefully placed emotion grow into concern. It was then that I noticed Clint's left arm shaking slightly. Many cures in about as many languages flew through my mind when I noticed a small spot of blood growing on his shirt. Somehow his stitches had popped and he, like the idiot he could be, didn't tell anyone.

"I booked us a room at a hotel a few miles from here. Why don't we go and rest there and pick this up in the morning." Phil offered and put a careful arm around Clint like he could fall over at anytime.

Clint shrugged it off. I'm not sure if it was the concussion, pain, or true anger of what Phil did to come to help us but Clint was being more resilient than normal. "I've rested for the past day I'm fine." He argued though his paling complexion argued with his reasoning.

"Clint," I was firm yet gentle with my words. "I know that you're frustrated, but you need to let us help you. If you want to be able to help us we need you to be in your best condition. That's something that you can't be bleeding out in the middle of a farmers market. Now will you let us help you or are you going to keep being stubborn?"

I could see the wheels turning in his mind as he weighed his options. After a minute he simply nodded and let Phil lead us to yet another hotel room. Stopping only to by a cheap black jacket to hide the quickly growing blood stain on Clint's shirt. It was going to be another in a very long line of very long nights.

* * *

**(A/N) Me again. Just wanted to say that I've just signed up to be a beta reader so if you are intersted in that you can take a look at my beta profile. That's all.**


	14. Chapter 13

Phil's hotel was much nicer than the Napkelte Inn. The room he booked was a large suite that probably costed more than I would ever be willing to pay. Coulson and I have very different ways of going about off the radar where I liked to lie under it, Phil liked to fly over it. He thought the best way to hide was to go to the largest hotel in the city and stay in the most expensive room and live like royalty. Though royalty didn't usually stain the sheets with blood.

Clint sat on the white bed as Phil, who has far better field medic skills than I currently posses, restitched his shoulder wound. Before he had met us Phil also collected some higher end painkillers and antibiotics for Clint which was an unexpected gift in it's own way. Even with the drugs working their way through his system the lines around Clint's eyes were still drawn in pain as he grimaced at shoulder whilst Phil tied off the cord.

"There," he said putting the bloody needle into the cup that I had brought him, "you're in one piece again. Try not to rip those ones out, would ya?"

Clint shrugged, as if to show that he would make no promises with the unnecessary movement of his shoulder. "It's the arm I pull back with, I can all but guarantee that they will need to be replaced again."

"This," Phil motioned to Clint's entire body, "Is the exact reasons that S.H.I.E.L.D. medics hate treating you. You know that they have a board where they count the days from when they have to restitch you?"

"Really?" Clint asked, his tone almost proud.

Phil smirked while cleaning up the rest of his supplies. "Yeah, I got it for them. It's hanging in their break room. This, right now, is more than nurses wanting to tie you two down until you guys are fully healed though. This is the Council." He laughed humorlessly, his eyes moving from Clint to me. "What the hell did you two do?"

"I wish I could tell you." I spoke from the corner of the room I was sitting in rereading the mission file that we had been given before we arrived here. "Why go through all of this trouble? He could just as easily kill us on base and make it look like someone else did it, he has the resources."

"Well, we can ask him that when before I put an arrow through his eye." Clint said while standing stiffly from the bed and going to grab the shirt that Phil had gotten for him. "Right now the question isn't why he set us up, but how do we get Peterson here and get answers."

"Yeah, but how the hell are we supposed to do that. His location is secret there is only a few people in the entire world that know where he is and when." I pointed out. The stress of having Clint almost bleed out on me twice was starting to get to me at that point. It was like the entire world had paused for me up until then and it all struck me at once.

"It might not be as hard as you think." Phil went over to where his briefcase sat and pulled out a file with the familiar S.H.I.E.L.D. logo printed on the front. "A few weeks ago Fury told me about a protection detail I was assigned to. He said the person I was protecting was of the utmost importance. Now he didn't tell me who it was but the way he was talking about the person led me to think that it was a council member."

Clint stared at him like he had grown an eye in the middle of his forehead. "And you didn't tell us this before because?"

"Because you would just run in without thinking twice." Phil stated as if it was obvious, which it was, Clint and I don't like waiting. Never have, and it will be a cold day in hell if we do. "Now, I don't know if this is going to be Peterson, but whoever is there will know where we can at least start looking for him."

"And where is this super secret meeting?" Clint asked sitting on the arm of the plush chair I was in.

"That's where it get's interesting actually." Coulson threw a map at us and the moment I saw the city he had circled with a black sharpie I filled with dread.

"The meeting is in Budapest?" I asked as Clint ripped the map from my hands to look it over. "It's obviously a trap then." At that point I was starting to get tired of the constant losses in that mission. If Budapest was a chess game Peterman owned the whole board and we were losing more pieces by the second.

"It's almost too obviously a trap." Clint said more to himself then us as he looked over the map, his eyes seemed to stare through the paper in his hand. Behind his eyes I could see the gears turning as he thought of a plan. "Let's think like Peterson for a second. Say he anticipated our escape that means that he would have to think what our next move would be, which is to find him. If I were him I would have put us right next to the meeting so we would think it was a trap and stay away from it. Also that way he can check in with the Hungarian to see if he got the job done."

Phil looked skeptical. "Alright let's say you're right that's a big chance for him to take having us all in the same city, and an even bigger one if we actually go to this meeting. So Clint, how sure are you?"

Clint gave that some thought before answering. "Sixty percent." Something about the way that he said it told that that it was sixty percent at most. His confidence was unshakable even in doubt. "We've done crazier with forty."

"Still this is a mission I would prefer to have a least seventy." Coulson sat on the edge of the bed looking exhausted from long plane rides and the excitement of having Clint almost bleed out on us again.

"We can't all get what we wish for." Clint moved from where he sat perched on the side of the arm chair and laid on the bed closing his eyes but still awake. "I'd take first watch but,"

"Shut up and get some rest." I ordered and within seconds he was out. "When I was waking him up on the way to meet you there was a moment when he wouldn't wake up."

Phil didn't freak out or do anything over putting his head in his hands looking more tired by the second. "Damn it, that's probably the concussion." He looked over to Clint who was sleeping peacefully. "We'll wake him up regularly and see how his heads doing. Beyond that I don't really know what we will be able to do for him since going to any sort of hospital right now is completely out of question."

I let my emotions out pretty bluntly at that point. "This situation is fucked. How the hell did we get in this?"

"I don't know, and we won't find out if we keep asking ourselves the same thing over again like a broken record." He looked sadly at Clint then moving to the closet to grab the spare blanket. Phil laid the blanket over him and pulled off Clint's shoes trying to make Clint as comfortable as possible. He looked over to me with the same look of concern that he gaved the more injured of us. "You should get some sleep. I'll take first watch."

I shook my head. After being awake for so long it felt wrong to let myself slip away. "No, you look tired. I'll take first watch."

Coulson laughed dryly. "Well look at the pot calling the kettle black. Now you can go to sleep on your own or I can knock you out. Your choice."

"I'd like to see you try." I said. But I still I dragged myself out of the chair and went to the other side of the large plush bed. I fell asleep instantly.


	15. Chapter 14

Movies always make it look like crawling through air ducts is the best and easiest way to sneak through a building, which they are, but what they don't show is the amount of effort it takes to moves through them silently. Just setting too much pressure on the metal can make your position known. Then there was also the fact that they were like a maze on steroids, you can go up, down, left, right, and in the end if you don't have your route mapped out it gets very easy to get lost. And since the blueprints for this building were conveniently destroyed, something I'm sure the council had a first hand in, Clint and I were crawling through the bones of that skyscraper essentially blind.

"This plan is terrible." I told Clint as we began to near the room we believed would have the council member that we hoped was actually here.

"For something that was made in less than forty two hours I think it's pretty good." We reached a vent and Clint, who was in front of me, looked down into the room below. "Besides it's working so far."

"That the council men's room?" I asked as he began to silently unscrew the nails holding the vent cover in place. After a quick, for lack of better words, hacking of the S.H.I.E.L.D. secure database we were able to find a sliver of information that only told us the one of three possible buildings that the meeting was happening in, and one of four floors he was on. We had gotten the building right on the first try lucky but this was the third floor we have scoured for any sign that a council member was residing inside of it.

Quietly Clint pulled off the cover and set it down before dropping into the room as his answer. I followed to see a larger bedroom than I thought was necessary for anyone. There were couches, a four poster bed, and a fully stocked kitchen. The entire room was decorated white and gold.

"This is almost cartoonishly evil." Clint said taking it all in before tapping his ear to activate the communication device that Phil had managed to sneak to Budapest with. "We're in. The targets room is on the north west side of the building, level thirty two." His voice echoed itself through my own comm.

Phil's voice came through the comm sounding slightly distorted but recognizable. "Alright I'll head to position, E.T.A. five minutes. Don't get yourselves killed in the mean time."

"Don't worry I won't Clint do anything stupid." I reassured before tapping the device off. There was a rattle at the door as someone started to push their key into the door to unlock it. "This isn't going to work."

"Ye of little faith." Clint whispered as we got into position. I stood behind the door so I could be effectively concealed from sight as it opened, and Clint took position on the other side of the room. Faintly the sound of his bow string being tightened filled the room.

The door opened a few seconds later and in walked someone I recognized right away. Councilman Singh stepped through the door and I was filled with relief and regret. Regret cause I was about to interrogate the only councilor I actually liked, which is also while I felt such relief. Singh was the most reasonable of the council from what I've seen. If I had to chose which one of the council would most likely lay his life down for what was right it was him.

Once the door was closed I spoke. "Councilmen." My voice was calm and low though he still startled and pulled a gun out of his waistband. Which was a surprise, I didn't think that a bureaucrat would be packing heat. The gun was immediately shot out of his hand by Clint's arrow that was, as always, perfectly aimed and clattered uselessly on the floor.

"We aren't here to hurt you, councilman." I realized that my assurance was probably in vain considering I was dressed intimidatingly in black combat boots, leggings, shirt, and leather jacket while Clint had a similar look with the extra intimidation that his large bow added. "We're just here to talk."

"Then why don't you put down the bow Agent Barton. I don't do business when my life is in jeopardy." He said not taking his eyes off me but relaxing when the sound of the bow string losing came from across the room and he stood next to me.

I got straight to why we were there, I didn't think any of us were interested in small talk in the moment. "Someone very close to you is trying to kill us, and we would like to know why."

His poker face was good, but I could see the shock through it. "By that you mean someone on the council, yes?" I nodded. "While I can say that you two have proved to make things more difficult for us since you two joined up, I can't see how one of us would take it that extra step."

"We have under good authority that Councilman Peterson sent us on a mission to retrieve stolen Stark Tech. only to be captured and tortured for information." Clint informed him. He later told me that he felt great satisfaction in seeing Singh's eyes widen minutely with the information he gave.

"Holy shit." Singh ran a hand through his hair and turned away from us to go and lean against the breakfast bar. "Any other agents I wouldn't believe them, in fact they would be fired by now, but you two are the best we've got so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. I can't answer your question on why he wants you dead but I can tell you where the best place to look for information is, and I can also give you a warning."

"Start with the information, please." I asked kindly while keeping an eye on the clock that was directly behind him.

"There is a S.H.I.E.L.D. information bank at the A Gyémánt Szív which to the rest of the world is just a banquet hall a few miles outside of Budapest. It won't be easy getting in but the information you need will be there. I trust you will only look at Peterson's files."

I nodded my understanding. "And the warning?"

"The moment that I knew you were in here I activated a silent alarm hidden in my cuff link." He showed the fake diamond pin on his sleeve cuff to emphasize his point. "Any second there will be more guards in here than can probably fit in this room."

"We know." Clint told him moving towards the window and tapping his comm to talk to Phil again. What they were talking about I wasn't really sure, I wasn't paying much attention to it.

"Of course." Singh said almost proudly. "I hope you also know that I will not be able to protect you if you go after Peterson. No one will."

A bang on the door sounded as the guards began the process of taking down the door. I ignored that too. "We have each other Councilman, we'll be fine."

Clint ran over to us. "I'd get down if I were you." He said pushing us all to the floor as bullets ripped through the glass shattering it. Clint tapped his ear again. "Thanks Phil, randevu in five. You know what to do if we don't show up."

"Just get your ass here, Barton." Phil told him before leaving the line and the door smashed open.

"Freeze!" The front guard yelled at us while many more were visible behind him.

"This better work." I whispered. I pulled a smoke grenade out of the utility belt I had gotten and set it off eliminating the chance of guards shooting at us while they couldn't confirm visual on Singh, while they were squeaking orders at each other Clint and I both darted up and ran to the window.

Clint pulled out his bow and and unzipped my jacket to reveal the harness underneath it and attached myself to Clint as he aimed at the building across from us.

"This will be fun." Clint grinned.

"Shut up, and take the shot." I shot back at him.

He loosened the arrow which was connected to a rope connected to his harness, just in case his arm gave out. Then with a leap we were falling towards the ground.


	16. Chapter 15

The feeling of being weightless in the air falling towards the ground at alarming speeds never truly leaves you. Clint was no stranger to jumping out of windows, which is why he had a grappling hook arrow at the ready, but that was my first time.

How do you describe something like that? It was all wind in my hair and adrenaline. Any sense of security that the harness ensured was ripped from me as I clung on to Clint 's chest like I hadn't seen him in years, I couldn't see them but I'm pretty sure that my knuckles were white as they gripped the fabric of Clint's vest. But even with the terror I still felt exhilarated. I don't know if that was just the spike of adrenaline that raged through my body or if it was something more. Falling like that isn't something you can describe, it's something you have to experience.

I also can't explain it well since as soon as I started to make sense of all the thoughts and emotions going on in my head the cord tightened and our descent stopped, painfully if I might add. Clint let out a small yell as his body was pulled two different directions, up from the rope, and down from me. It must have been hell on his shoulder that was only wounded two days before we decided to jump out of a damn window.

Like I said it was a stupid plan.

We slung through the rope as the cord led us to the building across from the one we had been in. I didn't exactly cherish the idea of smashing through the window that was quickly nearring us so I whipped out my pistol and shot the glass a few times to weaken it. Spider webs of broken glass shards spread from where the two bullets had pushed through. The glass was effectively weaker but I knew that the sudden stop would hurt and hurt bad.

I couldn't have been more right. Going through the window I could feel shards of glass slice parts of my clothes open and a few even going deep enough to cut my skin. That first impact with the window was garring but the one with the floor was just painful. Mainly because we didn't go just stop when we hit the floor of the new building we in, instead we rolled over each other until we finally lost all moment and ended with me lying on top of Clint.

Breathing heavily I rolled off Clint and landed on my back on the cold cement floor, turns out that that building was still under construction which left us alone in a huge building while all the workers were at lunch.

I glared at Clint whose eyes were closed tightly as he controlled his breathing, landing on his quiver probably wasn't the funnest thing in the world. "So was that everything you hoped it to be?" I asked unhooking myself from the harness.

"I get it, not my best idea." He huffed out rolling off his newly bruised back. His quiver had more than likely left along his back, from left shoulder to left hip was probably slowly turning black, blue, and purple as we laid there.

I didn't have a chance to retort because bullets started ripping through the air and made purchase in the floor around us. The fiery pain that went across my cheek was enough to get me on my feet in seconds, helping Clint up, and making our way out of the door. We didn't stop running, until we reached the lobby.

In a trash can next to the stairwell Coulson had left us a duffel filled with pedestrian clothes. Sweatshirts, hats, and anything that could make us unidentifiable from a distance. Distance was all we needed at that point.

Changing into street clothes was quick, the bag I had shouldered considering Clint's back was too prideful to admit the pain he more than likely had across his back, and we were soon walking out of the glass doors and into the street blending into the crowds immediately.

It's my job to blend, always has been, it's what I 'm known for. When I was… when I worked for… let's just say I'm like play dough you I can easily be molded into any shape that I needed to be in to survive. Clint was the same, but for me it was almost an art.

Clint checked his watch as we navigated our way through the crowds. "We have five minutes to meet Phil before he's out, or at least should be out."

"Then let's not be late." I told him while whipping the blood that constantly trickled down my cheek. The cut was extremely annoying on multiple levels, not only did I not blend as well as I hoped to as well as the initial sting of the cut that was luckily not very deep thought the amount it bled was worrying.

Out of nowhere Clint grabbed my arm and turned me so that my back was to a light post and I faced him. His face was less than an inch from mine and if it had been anyone other than him that caught me off guard like that they would have been bleeding by now. That's a lie actually, the only thing that kept me from beating the living crap from him was his impressive array of injuries.

Even still I wasn't able to keep the hostility out of my voice when I addressed him. "What the hell are you doing, Barton?" I asked keeping my voice low. His calming blue eyes did their best to relax me.

"Two agents at your three o'clock." I looked over slightly to the two agents who didn't even try to hide their efforts of tracking us down. I hadn't seen them, I was to focused on licking my wounds, that's what partners are for though. "Remember what I told you during your first training session?"

I nodded. When Clint brought me in to S.H.I.E.L.D. I was nobody's favorite. Clint was sent to kill me and the next thing anyone knew I was moving in to the New York S.H.I.E.L.D. base. None of the trainers trusted me enough to train me so Clint took it up to himself to show me everything he knew. His only condition that I gave ounce of everything that I am. I also had to stop seeing myself as the girl who killed for money. I told him that being the Black Widow wasn't something that I could change, and he told me that being the Black Widow was fine, that it would make the bad guys think twice about messing with me. But when my suit was off it needed to be _off._ The next day I changed my name from Natalia Romanova to Natasha Romanoff.

So when he asked me if I remembered what he thought me on my first training sessions I understood immediately. Jus as quickly I threw on a bubbly smile, leaned closer to him, and grabbed the lapels of his hoodie lovingly. "Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable."

We were so close to each other I could almost feel his mouth curl into a smile. His breath was warm on my face. "_You were always a good student_." He whispered in Russian and only pulling away when the agents had moved past us, oblivious.

"_Well you were a shit teacher._" I winked at him and we headed off on our way to meet Phil.


	17. Chapter 16

Hall made a mental note to look into the events that led to a man jumping off the largest ferris wheel in London later. "Your partner is a very interesting man I must say. Ignoring the fact that he appears to be the worlds greatest adrenaline junkie, you said that he essentially taught you the entire S.H.I.E.L.D. handbook. Agent Romanoff are you aware of the circumstance to which Agent Barton was brought in."

"He's told me a bit, but Clint is a very private person. All I know is what he told me, that he was a gun for hire for a few years, he made a name for himself. He never told me how he was recruited through."

Hall tossed her a file, to which she left on the desk, she and Clint had both agreed never to look into each others files at the beginning of their partnership. "Before Agent Coulson was a handler he was a field agent, one of the bests, and just like Barton he was sent to kill an assassin called Curtis Johnson. Your handler was seconds away from pulling the trigger when he made the choice to bring in. I had the privilege of giving him a monthly psych eval., as I 'm sure you did when you came to the agency. We continued to meet until he was cleared for duty, and became known in the world you chose to partake in as Hawkeye."

Natasha was frozen. "I thought you didn't know Clint?"

"I didn't. I knew Curtis. He changed his name soon after coming to S.H.I.E.L.D. but the man that I met with wasn't the Clint Barton you're describing. The second my door was closed he completely changed, he was no longer the person I heard stories of breaking all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s records, or gossip about from my patients. He was different. I can't go into specifics of what we talked about in our meetings, but what I will say is that he is nowhere near the man who I've heard about in the stories that float around this base. Definitely nowhere near the man who you were talking about."

Natasha knew that she had promised not to pry into Clint's personal life, but in this moment of time she felt the need to be closer to him. "Who was he? How was he different?"

Hall determined how much he was allowed to say. Honestly he shouldn't say anything to the young wide eyed agent in front of him, but with the way things were going with her partner he felt a small break of rules would be fine.

"The man in your story is is reckless, brave, and stubborn to a fault. Clint, the version of him I knew, was all of those but something inside of him was broken. The life he lived and the things he had done left its scars, I'm sure that if you looked for it you could still see it. The hesitation like he can't tell what's right or wrong."

Silence hung in the air for a few moments before Natasha could find her words again. "Why are you telling me this? I know you and Clint have doctor patient confidentiality, you shouldn't be telling me any of this. Why are you?"

"Because you deserve to know your partner. Because if he wakes up,"

"When." She corrected. Her eyes dark and warning.

The doctor gave a sympathetic smile. "Of course, my bad. _When_ he wakes up I fear he may have more than an echo of the man that I hoped was laid to rest years ago. You're going to have to help him back from the edge and you need to be prepared."

Natasha would never admit it but her eyes were brimming with tears she was trained to keep from ever falling fear. "Can I get back to the story now?" She asked her voice strained. The prospect of Clint being anything other than the Clint that had always been there for her was terrifying.

Budapest had changed the small team, for better or worse Natasha didn't know yet. But she wasn't willing to let Clint, the sarcastic, reckless, one that could bring a smile to anyone's face, go until she figured it out.

The doctor picked up on that. The person who sat in front of him was able to recount the moment of torture with near no emotion only because she knew how that ended, she knew they would get out of there, that he would be okay. But when he told her that her partner might be changed if, when, he woke up nearly brought her to tears.

The connection between the two spies kept shocking him. Just when he thought that he had figured out what they truly meant to each other he found another layer to their bond. First it was professional, then turned friendly, now it's starting to look like something more.

He waved a hand to tell the woman, who was slowly building up her defenses after the moment of barley checked emotion, to continue her story.

* * *

**(A/N) Sorry it's short I just felt like this was a pretty cut and dry chapter.**


	18. Chapter 17

Did you know that there is a fountain in Budapest shaped like an open book? Not many people that I've spoken to about it know what it is or that it even exists. What it is is exactly what it sounds like, a fountain that looks like someone had left a large, copper, book in the middle of a plaza. The water that comes out of it comes out in sheets starting from one side before flipping over to the other to seem as if the water was a page being constantly flipped over. It's something that is relatively unknown but is easily found in tour books, a.k.a. it's the perfect place to meet if you get separated while on the run.

That's where we met Coulson, well near where he was about a block north of the fountain sitting at a cafe drinking coffee making every attempt to look like he belonged. I was presented with another time where I forgot that he had actually been a field agent once. I almost didn't see him he blended so well.

The second he spotted us limping, still sore from our escape, he waved the barista down and ordered two more drinks. I've never been that greatfull in my life, except maybe when I sat down in the wrought iron chair across from him.

"I knew that was a horrible plan." Phil grimaced when he saw the state we were both in. Bruises had begun to form which made walking hard but neither of had anything broken and the bleeding from all of our superficial cuts had stopped by then. By some miracle Clint's shoulder wound had held together during our dive so the worse injury had from our escape was the large bruise on his back that prevented him from leaning back in the chair.

Clint hid his discomfort with dry laughter. "You two just don't know how to live."

"Maybe," I agreed, "but we do know to stay alive."

He scoffed folding his arms and leaning back, only to wince and sit up right again. "Boring, I pity you two."

Phil looked at him skeptically. "Yeah the guy who can't even lean back in his chair pitys me." Phil reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of advil like some kind of magician and set it in front of Clint who was looking at him like he was Santa Claus. "Stopped by a drug store on my way here. Somehow I just knew that you two were going to need those."

Clint swallowed a few of the pills dry, his shoulder was probably killing him so I didn't say even think of making him wait for a drink to wash them down with. "Phil, you are truly a god amongst men."

Phil chuckled lightly. "You say that everytime I bring you painkillers."

"That doesn't make it any less true." Clint pointed out.

I grabbed the pills from Clint's hand and took a few of my own. "If you two are done with your little bromantic moment I would like to point out that we are still on the run from the most powerful man in the world, and now our employers."

"Did you two get a lead?" Phil asked as the barista gave us our drinks. We downed them greatfully.

"There is a banquet hall," I told him, setting my newly empty mug down. Apparently it's just a cover for a S.H.I.E.L.D. data bank. It's called the A Gyémánt Szív." Coulson tensed. "I assume you've heard of it."

"The hall, yes. I didn't know that it was a cover for S.H.I.E.L.D. though, that's news to me. But the hall itself is very classy with some major security. It's going to take some doing to get in there, and get out with whatever info you need."

"I guess this means I have to buy a tux doesn't it?" Clint moaned. He leaned back again, this time with only slight discomfort. "Great, just the news I wanted to hear."

"Stop whining." I would have probably smacked his arm if he wasn't injured so I settled for a hard gaze. That shut him up quickly.

"I guess we're going to need to get our hands on some cash." Said Phil as Clint and I were still glaring at each other like children. Now that I think about it we were closer to having a staring contest then glaring, seeing who would break first. I couldn't see him at the time but I assume Phil rolled his eyes at us before he snapped his fingers between us to get our attention back. "Do I need to give you both a time out?" He asked gaining a small laugh from Clint as my partner put his legs up on mine to straighten out his bruised body.

"Cash shouldn't be an issue." I told my handler before reaching into one of the pockets in Clint's cargo pants and pulled out three wallets we had 'procured' along the way. "If we need more it shouldn't be hard to get."

"Should I ask how you got these?" Phil asked as he quickly pocketed the wallets, trying desperately not to drag attention to us. "Or should I just assume that a kind samaritan's gave you these."

"Like you could do anything about it either way." I said pulling out the phone I lifted off some buisness man. I quickly typed in the banquet halls name to see the next event it was hosting, image my luck when there was one the next night. I handed the phone to Clint to show him our next objective.

Clint sighed when he saw the event, a fundraiser for some politician, and handed the phone to Phil so he could see. "Great," he said, "so I guess this means that we should go shopping now, and get some recon in tonight."

I probably rolled my eyes at his attitude towards going black tie. The only reason he doesn't like doing it is because he can't bring his bow when he wears a tux and has to use a handgun. People always assume because his primary weapon is a bow and arrow that he can't use a gun, they couldn't be more wrong. It isn't so much that he can't use a gun, his accuracy for aiming translates to everything that can be thrown, shot, or kicked, he just prefers the bow over guns. Something about 'feel' of it, or something like that.

"If we're doing this then we should go soon, shops are going to start closing soon." I pushed, gently, Clint's legs off of mine and helped him up. "Come on if we hurry we'll be done before dinner."

Clint let out an exaggerated groan. "Fine, but if we get shot at, tortured, or have to jump out another damn window I say we cut our losses with this mission and go to a small island and grow old drinking piña coladas."

Phil patted his agents back as we headed down the street to find the nearest shop. "Sure if we get shot at, tortured, or jump out of any windows we'll do just that."


	19. Chapter 18

I hate recon. It's one of those things that is a fundamental part of your job, but it's about as boring as watching paint dry. If you've never been a spy you might think that watching people from afar would be interesting- seeing what people do when they don't know they're being watched. For regular people that's true, but the people we were watching were trained S.H.I.E.L.D. employees, they were professional even when they believed they were alone. Believe me when I say that watching S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stand in the same place for an hour and a half before switching out with a new agent. It's basically the spy equivalent of paperwork- except Phil doesn't do his field reports in freezing rain.

"I swear on my best bow," Clint started, "if we get pneumonia while Phil is hitting up small boutiques on freaking main street I will.." He thought about exactly what he would do to his best friend who was currently getting us all proper clothes for tomorrow night while Clint and I were stuck in the freezing rain doing recon. We both sat at the top of a hill that overlooked the hall- our only cover from the weather being a few trees.

After his moment of contemplation Clint/ spoke up again. "You know what? I honestly don't know what I would do to him. I'm thinking something with paintball grenades."

I laughed at how childish he was being. "Paintball grenades are too obvious."

"Oh, really Romanoff?" A raised an eyebrow to the use of my last name- something he only did when he was trying to annoy me. "If you're so sure then what do you is a punishment worthy of us getting sick as hell while he's shopping in one of the largest cities in the country?"

"I can't tell you that. What if I need to use it on you someday?" I teased looking away from the binoculars that I was using to spy on the hall and to Clint who was still focused on looking through his own pair- taking in every detail.

"You're treading on thin ice there Nat. I'm reigning champion all prank wars in S.H.I.E.L.D. history, you may be in over your head on this one."

I scoffed. "Is that a challenge Barton?"

He shrugged and kept his attention divided between the task and me. "I wouldn't so much as call it a challenge."

I shifted so I could have a better view of him. His eyes flicked towards me for a second before returning to their duty. "You talk an awful big game Clinton."

His wince was visible. "Throwing the Clinton out, you must mean business if you pulled that one out. I guess I have my work cut out for me when we get back." He paused for a moment before letting out a sigh, removing the binoculars from his eyes, rubbing a hand over them. "Honestly I'm starting to doubt we'll ever get back."

"What are you talking about? Of course we'll get back, once we get this son of a bitch we're home free." I didn't like his sudden pessimism. Clint Barton has the optimism of a puppy, but he's also a puppy that was kicked a few too many times. Sometimes it's hard to remember he's just as screwed up as me.

His childhood was one disaster after another. First off his father was, well, lets just say he wasn't the nicest when he drank. I can't say much more since Clint barely talks about his parents, or his past at all. All I know is that after his parents died Clint and his brother, Barney, went to an orphanage only for them to run off to the circus a few years later- a testament to how he was treated at that hell of an orphanage. Something happened between Clint and Barney between the time they joined the circus and when Clint joined S.H.I.E.L.D. because whenever he talks about him there's always a look in his eyes, the same one as that he had right now, like he had been kicked one to many times.

When he spoke he sounded so broken. "He's a fucking councilmen Nat. This is a hell of a lot bigger than anything we've gone up against. I mean sure we get the this information, then what? All we'll have is some files, that may or may not lead us to Peterson, then what? All we have after that is a few files and targets on our backs and that's it."

"We have each other." I told him. "You and me, Clint, we can do anything. There isn't a lock in the world that can hold us back, or a person who can tear us apart. What happens after we get the files is something that we can, and will, figure out. Together we are unstoppable, divided we would tear apart countries to get back to each other. We will beat Peterson. He may have started this war, but if we know how to do anything it's finishing it." I watched him for a few seconds trying to get a read on him, but he was being stoic as ever. "Are you with me Clint?"

I watched him carefully for any sign of a reaction to my words. His emotions were always kept guarded, even from me- even now. I didn't know what was going on in his mind and I sat there for a long time trying to figure it out. Looking back I don't know if there was anyways I could have known what he was about to do next.

He kissed me. I don't know how else to say it other than that. I could tell you how our eyes connected and the world stopped, or how his breath was hot on my icey skin, or how his wet hair felt when I ran my hand through it. But that would have made it sound like a fairytale, but fairy tales are for children and what happened, what can still happen, is so much more than that. Love, fairy tales, happy endings? They're all for children, I don't think Clint and I were ever innocent enough to be children.

After what felt like forever we pulled away, not completely, we were still nose to nose. My eyes were closed as I just tried to enjoy the warmth of the moment. But there was something in my mind that couldn't relax.

Clint leaned his forehead against mine and grabbed my hands in his rough calloused ones. "I'm with you Tasha, to the end of this mission and every mission after."

The rest of the night I remember well, but those memories are Clint and mine's, no one elses. Just know that I have a lot of bad memories. Ones that the devil himself might regret giving me, but that night sitting with him in the mud under that tree that could barely cover us from freezing rain- that was a good one.


	20. Chapter 19

The next day was all about the getting answers. We didn't know what we would find, or what we would do with it after, but we were going to get something- and that something was a hell of a lot more than we had then.

Of course there was still the party that we had to get through, and with Clint in a tux that was a harder mission than I had originally thought. As I changed in the large bathroom into the dress that Phil had picked out for me last night I could hear Clint complaining from the next room. It took all my training not to burst out laughing.

"Clint," Phil sighed exasperated, "get off the computer."

"No." He retorted; the sound of fingers hitting keys furiously made it through the door. "Not until I find the bastard who did this."

I can still imagine the face palm that Phil must have been doing in that moment. "Clint, you can't kill the person who created the tuxedo. I'm pretty sure whoever they are, they're dead."

"Then I'll go after him family." Clint growled. "Someone needs to pay."

"Don't you think you're being slightly over dramatic about this?"

There was a moment of silence as the typing stopped before a defiant, "no." The typing resumed and I could hear Phil smacking Clint on the head before a small struggle, which I believe was the result of Phil taking the laptop away from Clint. "Traitor." Clint muttered.

"Child." Phil said in the same tone.

I swear, how they got through the three years before I came around without killing each other is a miracle.

"_**Idiots**_." I probably muttered, before leaving the bathroom. "I can't leave you two alone for three minutes."

They froze when I entered the room, the laptop in the middle of them as Clint had been fighting to get it back. I grabbed it from both of them and went to the small safe we were given, put it in, and changed the code. It wouldn't keep either of them out of it, but I was hoping that it would just be seen as too much trouble. When I turned back to them I saw that Clint was staring at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," his tone went from childish to serious in a matter of seconds. "Nothing, just you look good." He motioned to the long black dress, with a slit up the leg- which would make running in the form fitting dress much easier. A small smile formed on his face, that thankfully went unnoticed by Phil.

It's not technically against the rules for agents to be in relationships with each other. I've been told of a few romances that started on missions, and the people still work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and all, but their partnership had been eliminated. I would never give up our partnership for anything, Clint and I are a team, so if that means we keep it a secret from Phil then so be it.

So I acted as normal as possible. "You can thank Phil for that." I gave Clint a look that told him more than I said, Clint and I are very good at speaking without words, it's necessary for our line of work.

Phil cleared his throat and checked his watch. Did he sense something different between Clint and I? I've been rethinking every moment around Phil ever since that night doing recon in the freezing rain trying to determine if he knows something, anything, about us. So far I'm indecisive about it, and it's not like I can ask him if he knows that Clint and I are more now than we were before Budapest. I might be paranoid, but I've learned to trust paranoia.

"We better get going." Phil grabbed his gun and hid it in his waistband. "Unless you'd rather go after the family of a person who has been dead for a decent amount of time than the person who is trying to kill both of you."

Clint grabbed a handgun as well, checked the sighting on it before hiding it in his waistband as well.

Mine was smaller than I normally carried, and hidden in the small handbag I was carrying. Knives were in many different holsters hidden all over my body, formal clothes always make things difficult.

But that didn't matter to me at the time, because we were finally on our way to getting answers.

* * *

We snuck in through a hole in the halls security, we also made sure to leave a bag of equipment hidden in a trash bin near the exit just in case we needed it later, but other than that we made our way to the main hall easily.

People were walking around chatting and admiring the art on display, some danced to the music the small ensemble was making. Anyone in there could have been S.H.I.E.L.D. meaning anyone in there could be trying to kill us, or arrest us depending on what side of things they were on.

Clint whispered something to Phil, who walked off immediately, then came to my side and offered me his hand. "Care to dance?" He asked in an overly snooty accent. He even bowed slightly as he asked.

"I would love to." I grabbed his hand and he led me to the dance floor were we started to waltz. Waltzing was a spies best friend when it came to gatherings like this, were enemies were everywhere and doing their damndest to fit in. It gives you an excuse to move through the entirety of the space and look at the room from every angle, all while your partner does the same.

But when we got the dance floor and began the usual routine it was clear that something, like everything between us for the last week, had changed. It's so strange how something that had been so comfortable once was now foreign to me, replaced with something newer, bolder. When we were dancing it wasn't like it had been, no, our moves were smoother, our actions became one like they never had before. It was like we had morphed into one person. That prospect terrified me.

"What are we going to do Clint?" I asked as we spun around the dance floor, by then I had already spotted three agents- with everyone I tapped my finger on Clint's shoulder. Four taps on my waist told me that there were at least seven in the immediate area.

"I'm not going to forget what happened last night, Nat, you can't ask me to move on like it never happened. I refuse to go backwards from where we are now." Clint's voice was a whisper in my ear but filled with passion.

"I'm not asking you too Clint. I don't want to go backwards either, but at the same time we're compromised Clint. We compromise each other, and what if the next bad guy we go after finds us out?"

"They won't." Two taps on my waist. "We won't let them. And as for compromising each other- I don't see any issue in it. I've been compromised by you for a long time Tasha, longer than you, or I know. I just don't think I could trust any other agent enough to watch your back to do anything about it."

I nodded. Clint is a wild card, there is no way to know what crazy scheme he has planned, I don't trust any other agent to be able to handle that. Then again I didn't do a very good job at protecting him either, but at that time I thought only I was capable of keeping him safe. But that's the thing about playing cards, for every wild card we play there's a chance that they could throw one straight back at us.

Anyways, back to the story. We kept dancing until we had a dozen agents found, before meeting up with Phil who had found a few on his own.

"Is the distraction in place?" I asked when we all regrouped.

"It's in place." I smirked, out of all of our distractions this one was by far the best. "I still don't know how you guys set this up?"

Clint shrugged keeping an eye on his watch. "The right amount of money can get you anything. Any second now."

We all watched the front door, and when we heard the shout of guards we knew it was was one of those things that you don't ever forget, and can't explain to those who didn't see it. It's one of those crazy, wild, impossible, things that you catch yourself laughing about at random times when it pops into your mind.

Because low and behold a man ran inside wearing nothing but his boxers and a horse head mask. He jumped past guards and into the banquet hall. There was a bottle of what I assume was some sort of liquor in his hand.

It's a very long story on how we got that to happen.

It was also very effective in drawing everyone's attention to the front as the party crasher was tackled down by a few guards. Without any attention to us we slipped out of the hall and into what seemed like a maze of corridors. The floor plans for this building had been hard to find, but that didn't stop us, soon enough we figured out were we were and on our way to our prize.

After a few minutes of navigating we found the large metal vault that held the information we needed. Seeing such a secure vault was something that would deter most thieves, but these were S.H.I.E.L.D. standard issue vaults. I have tested every one of them to find out if they have any weakness and reported that information back to S.H.I.E.L.D., well almost all of it. For occasions such as this I made sure that there was one way in that was only accessible to me. A spy always has a back up plan.

So as I got to work opening the vault Clint and Phil kept watch- making sure that we didn't get any unexpected visitors. It didn't take long for me to have our way into the vault opened.

And that's when everything went to hell.

* * *

**(A/N) We are drawing very close to an end, but don't fret there will be a sequel.**


	21. Chapter 20

For the sake of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s security I can't tell you what was in the vault. I've talked with Fury about this, he was not very happy that I left a fail safe for me to break into what held the most sensitive information in the world, and in exchange for me not getting fired or thrown in a jail cell for the rest of my life I just have one more secret to keep. So while I can't tell you everything I saw I can tell you what happened inside. All I can say is that it was huge.

We shifted through cabinets upon cabinets of classified documents, for hours upon hours until we found what we were looking for. When Clint's 'aha!' of triumph echoed in the vault I knew we had what we needed. Especially when I turned to see Clint leafing through a file the size of a novella.

"You got something?" Phil asked moving over to Clint to look at the file over his shoulder before taking it from Clint's grasp all together. "I don't get it." Phil said. "There isn't anything here." He continued to flip through pages until something caught his eye. "Wait a minute, have either of you to heard of the name Peter Debtrose?"

"Debtrose?" I asked as something inside me froze. I didn't even need Phil nodding to tell me that I heard the name right. Peter Debtrose is one of the first names in my ledger. I never knew why he was wanted dead, I never asked, but after figuring out that his name was even mentioned in Peterson's file it as pretty obvious why he was dead.

"Yeah, he was Peterson's son, he was in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s protection since he was born and until he died from an assassination." Phil noted my look of unease and his expression grew to match mine, Clint had been trying to establish eye contact from the moment that I pointed out Debrose's last name, but I was too caught up in my own guilt to return it. I couldn't look at the face of the man that had been tortured because of a mistake of mine. Especially not Clint's.

"Phil call Fury." Clint ordered not taking his eyes off me while I kept my gaze anywhere but his. When Phil stepped away to make the call Clint took his chance to close the space between us. "Tasha?" His voice was near a whisper, he didn't need to speak louder since his face was only a few inches from mine and he didn't want Phil to over hear us. "_**Tasha, it's going to be alright.**_"

"_**How can you say that?**_" I asked keeping my voice low, even though I knew that Phil didn't speak Russian I didn't want him to overhear us for some reason. "_**Clint, you were tortured because of me. Because of my mistake.**_"

"_**Oh, little spider,**_" a new voice from behind me spoke. I recognized his voice right away, I didn't need to turn to confirm that the Hungarian was behind me. "_**You're precious Hawk will be wishing for torture like he once knew when I am done with him. Now turn around, slowly, and let me see that pretty face of yours.**_"

I wish I had caught Clint's eyes one more time before I turned around, just being able to see his grey-blue eyes once more would have made everything to come just a little less painful. But instead I just turned around to see the man who had hurt Clint- if looks could kill we might have avoided that entire situation.

The Hungarian was worse for wear though, something that made me very pleased to see. He wore a large bandage around his head with a bulking in the bandages above the ear that Clint had bitten. The large bandage took away from the threat of the gun in his hand even as it was pointed directly at Clint and me.

"Nice fashion statement." Clint blurted out like he couldn't help himself from patting himself on the back for his handywork. If the situation wasn't so dire I would have elbowed him in the stomach for thinking now was the time for a witty one-liner.

"You like?" The Hungarian asked, making a quick motion towards the bandages. "You see, , I developed an infection because you decided to act like a deranged dog. I lost my ear, along with the hearing in that ear. All because of you, and you will pay."

"I don't think so." Phil said, making himself known behind the man by pressing a gun to the back of his head. It may have been a few years since Phil's last field mission but he was still one of the best. But he wasn't good enough because a few of the Hungarian's goons had been lurking in the shadows as well. Soon enough we were outnumbered three to one. We could have taken them, but with Clint still healing none of us were volunteering for a fight.

"Grab them." The Hungarian motioned to us while grabbing Phil's gun and putting it in his waistband. "Make sure they are all unarmed. Bring him," he motioned to Clint, "to the back room. We have some business to settle."

"You might as well stop now." Phil's tone was filled with more rage than I have ever heard. No, that's a lie. Once I heard him use that tone before when some thugs from the rapid response team had beaten the shit out of Clint after brining me in. Those agent's all requested to be transferred within the week.

"I just called the Director S.H.I.E.L.D. and he knows everything that's going on. So whatever protection from S.H.I.E.L.D. your boss was promising is off the table. There will be more agent's in this cell than there were in my graduating class within the hour."

The Hungarian shrugged. "Then I better be quick." He turned to two goons and yelled at them to guard the door before heading to the room Clint had been brought to. Phil and I were handcuffed to cabinets across from each other. Guards stood on opposite ends of the hallway blocking our paths to both Clint and the door.

I strained to hear what was happening in the room that Clint had been taken to. My handcuffs bit as I pulled against them trying to get as close as I could. Phil was doing the same- we both desperately wanted to be able to hear what was happening.

Clint is by no means weak. Understand that. His mental and physical tolerance when it comes to torture is seconded to no one- he could shut his entire mind down to hide from the pain and not make a single indication of discomfort. He is the strongest person I know in the whole world. He can laugh in the face of torture and spit on the devil himself. To Clint any sign of pain during torture was a sign of weakness.

Which is why I could feel myself shatter and turn to dust when his agonized screaming echo through the vault.


	22. Chapter 21

I have no idea how long I had to listen to the torture that Clint was being subjected to. It felt like days that I was stuck to that damn filing cabinet. Every now and then I would hear the sound of gunfire which I knew to be the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on base trying to get past the men at the front of the vault, but I knew they wouldn't get to us in quick enough. No, if whatever was happening to Clint could get any sort of reaction from him then it was bad enough to kill him, and quickly.

Blood dripped on the floor from may handcuffs biting into my skin as I tried to pull away from them. Peterson had made sure the Hungarian was very well informed, probably not so he wouldn't mess up that time around, and all of my lock picking tools were taken from me before he locked me up. But Peterson hadn't prepared him for Phil.

A small pop that was barely distinguishable over the screaming came from his side of the hall. It was quiet enough so the guards didn't hear, but when I heard it I glanced over to see Phil sliding out of the left handcuff. His left hand thumb was dislocated.

He stalked over the guards who had his back turned and wrapped the cuffs chain link around his throat. There was a slight struggle that alerted the other guard who turned and opened fire. I ducked as far down as I could with my arm still attached to the filing cabinet and watched as Phil used the guard he had captured as a human shield before grabbing his gun and firing two rounds, one making purchase in the forehead of the opposite guards. Phil dropped the now unconscious guard he had taken hostage on the ground, found his key, and set me free.

"Get Clint," he said handing me the gun he had taken off of the guard, "I'll go finish them off."

I didn't say anything to him, that would have just slowed me down. No, instead I nearly sprinted to the room Clint was in and kicked open the door.

Inside there was... When I got inside… Clint was…

* * *

" ," Dr. Hall interrupted the agent who was searching for words. Her eyes dark and brimming with tears that were being too stubborn to fall. "I've read agent Barton's file. I know what happened to him- you don't need to continue."

She nodded and fixed her gaze on the file that sat on the desk. "You know," she started, her voice thickened with a whirlwind of emotion, "I've shared somethings with you that I would never tell anyone else- not because I don't want to, which I don't, but because I'm never sure how to describe these things. Could you? Could you describe seeing someone who you care so deeply for that the word love sounds childish the way I saw him when I when I found him, or what happened after? I can't. I have no idea how to describe everything that happened.

"But you need to know. You need to know because no matter what it says in Clint's file about his 'condition' you still know nothing about what happened in Budapest. Nothing that is written about Clint's condition can tell you the full extent of happened to him. Because there will be people who will call him weak and think less of an agent and more as a liability and they don't know shit about what happened to him.

"The point I'm trying to get across is that, no matter what fancy credentials you have or what psych eval I have to pass is, you don't deserve to know what happened to Clint in Budapest, no one deserves to know what happened to him. No, they are forced to. Because every time some dick of an agent tries to get him off their detail because he's a liability, like what happened makes him weaker, I'm going to go up to them and tell them what I'm about to tell you right before I break their nose. Clint isn't weak, he's the strongest man in this whole damn agency and after he wakes up he's going to prove it, again, to everyone here. Do you understand?" She looked back up to meet the doctor's gaze.

He was surprised to see a single tear slip down her face that she quickly wiped away. He simply nodded.

"I'm glad we got that cleared up."

* * *

The room was the same dark grey as everywhere in the vault. There was nothing in there that was different from any of the other rooms we checked were except for my partner, tied to a chair in the middle of the room with blood pooling around him. The Hungarian stood in front of him, facing me, with a scalpel held proudly in a blood soaked hand. He was smiling.

"_**Hello spider.**_" He drawled in a way that made my skin crawl more than I thought it could. "_**Are you here for your hawk? Because I'm afraid you may be a little too late for whatever daring rescue you had planned. Isn't that right ?**_" He stepped aside and I saw Clint.

God, Clint. It wasn't hard to find the source of the bleeding. Because from both of his ears blood spilled down his body. I almost ten feet away from him and I could still see the marks on his ears from where the Hungarian had cut them. I think the worse part was that he was still conscious, though he was losing that battle quickly. But even on the brink of consciousness his eyes screamed at me with all of the pain he was feeling and I froze.

"_**Where I come from we take an eye for an eye. An ear,**_" he motioned to his bandaged ear, "_**for an ear.**_" He looked at Clint with a grin that dared to be prideful. He dared to grab Clint by the chin and move _my _partners head to admire the other bleeding ear. "_**The second one wasn't quite necessary, but it sure was fun.**_"

I didn't have a final witty one-liner for him, that's Clint's thing. No, but I send a bullet ripping through his throat. I've never liked killing, contrary to everyone's beliefs when I first arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D., but for the Hungarian I let myself feel good for that. But not for long because as the Hungarian fell his last act was to blindly reach out for something to slow his fall. That something was Clint's chair. Again time seemed to slow down as I watched Clint's chair fall backwards- the whole word muted except for the sound of Clint's head hitting the steel floor.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he stopped moving.

"No." I Whispered running to his side and cupping his face in my hands; careful not to touch his ears. "Clint? Clint, wake up! Please wake up!" I put my lips on his vainly hoping that it would garner a reaction there was none. "Clint, please! Don't do this to me, please. We just got started, you can't die." I didn't know what to do. He was bleeding too heavily and getting hit on the head so soon after his last blow left him with more damage than I knew how to fix.

"Goddammit Barton! Open your fucking eyes!" I was begging at this point, something I never thought I would do. But he still didn't flinch. I pressed my fingers against his neck for a pulse, and found it weak but still noticeable.

"PHIL!" I yelled as loud as possible.

I don't know how desperate sounding my voice was but Phil was there in a matter of seconds with a few agents in tow. They all stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Clint.

"Don't just stand there!" I yelled at them my voice and threatens mix of anger and fear. "Help him!"

* * *

After that it was all a blur. At some point S.H.I.E.L.D. medics arrived and Clint was loaded on a gurney to be taken to the nearest S.H.I.E.L.D. medical facility. At some point when they wheeled Clint into the trauma room and I made my way to the observation room someone had tried to stop me saying 'I wasn't family.' I don't even remember nearly breaking his arm. In the end no one stood in my way when I stormed to the observation room and watched as the doctors attempted hiding the looks of dread on their faces when they saw Clint's ears.

Phil joined me at some point and we both watched in silence.

* * *

**(A/N) Alright this is just in case this happened. When I saved this the first time 's first line was gone and I added it back in, saved it, and it was gone. So if his first line is still gone when you read this the line was just " ," I'm sorry if it didn't go through I don't really understand what happened with that.**


	23. Chapter 22

"His brain had massive swelling," Natasha explained keeping her eyes on her hands, scraping some of the red nail polish that remained from being abused for the past week from having too much stress and nothing to do with it. "The doctors were surprised that he even survived long enough to get to the hospital. They said that he should have died when his head hit the ground back in the vault. They said he was lucky." A wry laugh escaped her. "Lucky. That's a word I don't think belongs to Clint right ."

"I've seen the medical records," Hall reminded her, "as well as talked to the lead doctor on his case. Lucky would be a good word to describe him right now."

Natasha's gaze turned from emotional to cold and steely in a second. "Cut and mutilated ear drums and severe swelling in his brain, so much swelling that he fell into a coma in route to the emergency medical S.H.I.E.L.D. base in Hungary. He wasn't even stable enough to move back to the New York base until yesterday. So, please tell me, how is Clint lucky?"

remained unshaken by the assassin's sudden anger. Though he did keep his tone carefully calm when he spoke. "He's alive." Her expression didn't soften but a look of shock fell upon her expression before it was ground back down to a default expression. As though she didn't trust herself to show how she was really feeling. "He is alive, and the doctor says that the swelling is going down steadily. Your partner should be awake in a few days from an injury that would have killed most."

"But what will he be waking up to?" Natasha asked, honestly looking for an answer. "After surviving everything that he has there is still the possibility of permanent brain damage, two concussions in a row are never good for the brain. Even if he pulls another 'Barton' and comes out on top of this and no damage happens to his brain, he still won't…" She couldn't bring herself to say the end of the sentence.

"He won't be able to hear." Hall stated simply. "And if he does get some of his hearing back, hearing loss is damning for an field operative. But he would still be alive."

"Stuck behind a desk is worse than death. That's not even an exaggeration when it comes to Clint. If you watch Clint being still for an extended period of time you can slowly see tension and nervous energy just grow inside him like a virus. Putting Clint Barton behind a desk is a punishment for a crime that he was a victim of. He also won't quit because S.H.I.E.L.D. is his home, and outside of it he doesn't have anywhere to go. Leaving Clint in a limbo between being miserable here and miserable out there. Where does that leave him?" She didn't let him answer. "I'll tell you where. He won't be living, he'll be surviving."

observed her for a moment before deciding to speak. His mouth barely made a move before she was out of her chair, nearly knocking it back by the force that she stood up with.

"You've got my story, now if you excuse me I'd like to go see my partner." Because if the doctors were right and the swelling was going down. Then there was a slight chance that he could wake up, and there was no way in hell she wasn't going to be there for him when he did.

"Of course," Hall nodded, standing up as well and walking over to the door with her; even though it was just across the room. "Ms. Roman- Natasha, I just want you to know that there are people here that want to help you and Agent Barton get through this. It's going to be an uphill battle for him, and for you in extension. But without support both of you will fall, and S.H.I.E.L.D. will loose the two most intelligent, skilled, willing agents it ever had the pleasure of bringing in." He opened the door for her. "Focus on Clint right now. Don't dwell on his injury. He'll be doing enough of that for both of you."

Natasha vaguely nodded before leaving the office. A few steps away she turned back, her eyes filled with stubborn tears again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Remember, my door is always open. For you and Agent Barton." He waved a goodbye to her before closing his door.

Inside he took a deep breath and contemplated everything he had been told. He moved back to his desk and flipped open Clint Barton's file on his desk. Though most of it was covered in black marks to hide all of the things he had done for S.H.I.E.L.D. it was clear that he was a hero that the world didn't even know that it had.

The same for Natasha Romanoff. Both of them most likely think little to nothing of themselves and the things that they have done, but they saved the world on countless occasions- from what he could tell.

With a heavy sigh pulled his cell from his desk drawer and dialed. It took all of two rings for the person on the other line to answer and greet him.

"Hall, I assume you call with good news." The voice on the other end called through the speaker.

"I wouldn't be calling if I didn't." Hall looked carefully at the files in front of him as he continued saying, "looks like our two assassins are in love."

"Are they really?"

"Would I lie to you Councilmen Peterson?"

"I'm not part of the council anymore doctor." The voice on the other end sounded slightly annoyed but it wasn't directed at Hall. "What did you find out other than the fact that they are sleeping together?"

"Romanoff is going to be a harder target than you anticipated, but her partner on the other hand." He glanced at Clint's file, a devilish grin growing on his face. "He's going to be how you break her."

* * *

When Natasha walked up to the door that had Clint's name written on the small whiteboard hanging it from it she froze. 's words seemed to finally hit her and a small part of her wanted to laugh and jump in joy because it was like she finally realized that Clint was alive. Injured, yes, but not gone. For the past week she had felt like she was already at his funeral, but now she knew that wasn't going to happen. She promised herself she would do whatever was necessary from hearing Clint's twenty-one gun salute.

Her unexpected joy was cut off by being startled when Phil opened the Clint's medical suite's door from the inside. He seemed equally shocked to see her there as well.

"That was quick." He checked down at his watch, "only an hour and a half. I was sure that they would keep you longer than that. You didn't scare him off that quickly did you?" His attempt at a joke was lessened by the dark marks around his eyes.

"I played nice." She assured before growing serious. "How is he?"

Phil let out a huge sigh and stepped aside to let Natasha into the room to see for herself.

Clint was pretty much exactly how she had left him. A large tube was down his throat that would breath for him giving each breath a mechanical movement. His chest going up and down on a beat that wasn't his to control. Other smaller tubes went into his skin to give him a cocktail of drugs to help with the swelling in his brain and antibiotics for the start of an infection that the doctors were actively trying to avoid. But she noticed the difference from the last she had seen him right away. His hands were restrained to the bed with leather cuffs.

"What happened?" She pushed past him and went to her partner.

"Nothing bad." Phil reassured whilst taking his seat at the side of Clint's bed. "It's actually good news. About ten minutes ago he started showing signs of waking up and one of the nurses put him in restraints so he wouldn't disrupt any of the tubes in case he wakes up swinging. I was about to go and get you, but you saved me the trip."

Natasha was barely listening to him her eyes intent of following Clint's right hand that clenched and tugged at the restraint, but made no real effort to escape it.

"He's getting better." Phil's last statement was more to himself than to Natasha, but she took the comfort anyways.

She kept a careful distance between herself and Clint, far enough so her handler wouldn't get suspicious, but close enough so that she could keep the appearance of just his partner. Also because there were few things that could pull her away from his bedside.

"You do know that you don't have to keeping acting, right?" Said Phil abruptly.

She turned his attention to her handler and who had been watching her thoughtfully since she had entered the room. "I don't understand."

"I know about you and Clint." Her heart stopped. "I don't know if it's funny that you thought you could hide this from me, or upsetting that you thought that you had to."

Natasha felt a breath of release that Phil knew, evidenced by her closing the space between her and her partner as she ran one hand through his hair and used the other to hold his. But then the worry came back, Phil would have to report them. "What are you going to do?"

He sighed and stood from his chair to join her at Clint's side. "As far as I'm concerned I didn't see or hear anything that would indicate that the best partnership that S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever produced should be disbanded. I'm just afraid that in the end it won't matter what my report says."

"Have you talked to Fury yet?"

"Yeah, and he's livid about the whole thing. He set aside a whole task force just to review Peterson's files to see if he can find out what Peterson's next play is."

"What did he say about Clint being put back into rotation?"

"It's a waiting game honestly. If there's enough sensation for him to be able to get hearing aids then he just has to wait until he get's cleared, Fury's got some guys working on a hearing aid that can withstand a low frequency EMP and being underwater but are invisible to anyone not looking for them. But if his ears are too damaged he's going to be out of active duty. There's nothing we can do about that. Fury did say that he won't be sticking Clint behind a desk, if it's any consolation he'll be a trainer for new recruits."

"So he goes from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most valued asset to it's monkey trainer." She recalled the name 'monkey trainer' from when Clint explained why they were going to have extra training sessions on the side of her mandatory ones- since he didn't trust the trainers to keep up with her.

"I'm just focusing on him staying out of a cubical for the rest of his life."

Something tightened around Natasha's right hand that made her eyes dart to her unconscious partner. "Clint." She called her name and waited for any sort of reaction before realizing that there wouldn't be one and feeling stupid for even trying. Instead she resorted to tighten her grip on his hand to tell him she was there.

His hand tightened around hers in response.

Phil's eyes widened when he saw his agent's hand grasp Natasha's. The grip was weak but it was definitely there. He immediately pressed the call button.

Clint's eyes opened fully but didn't focus on anything, instead they just drifted around the room uncaring. Everything was fine until he tried to take a breath against the ventilator. Because the second Clint realized he wasn't breathing normally he tried to pull whatever was blocking his airway away. But when he realized that his hands were restrained instinct kicked in. Even when Clint was seconds out of a week long coma the instinct to fight was too strong.

"Clint, it's okay," she was about to tell him to calm down, to stop fighting, but then realized once again that trying to speak to him was pointless. "Damn it! What do we do?"

Luckily Clint's doctor and a few nurses ran into the room. The nurses were as nice as possible while they firmly led them away from Clint's bedside. Natasha fell back into the appearance of being just a concerned teammate. It was the hardest things she ever had to do.

"Agent Barton," the doctor yelled since they still weren't sure of the extent of his hearing loss, "if you can hear me I need you to try and calm down. Don't fight the ventilator, let it breath for you." Clint made no attempt to calm himself down. "We're going to have to sedate him."

"No." Natasha hadn't seen Clint awake in a week, there was no way that she was letting him get put under without a fight. "Let me try to calm him down first."

Natasha didn't wait for an answer. Instead she went to her partner's bed and resumed running her fingers through Clint's hair. But she still couldn't capture his attention. As a last resort she grabbed his head in her hands and, as much as she could, moved his so his eyes were on her.

He was panicked, disoriented, and scared. All of those emotions were translated clearly to his partner. It was obvious how much he wanted to get up and run away never to look back.

Natasha's eye's were the exact opposite. They were calm and collected and told him everything that he needed to know. He was okay. He was safe. It was all over. Slowly he began to relax and gain more of a sense of his surroundings as his heart rate began to level out and his thoughts gained lucidity.

The doctor waved a hand to get Clint's attention before pointing to the tube and making a motion like he was pulling a ventilator out of his own throat. _I'm going to remove the ventilator now_, was the intended message.

Clint gave as much of a nod as he could and kept his eyes on Natasha and off of the doctors preparing for pulling the ventilator out of his throat.

The doctor gave a small nod that she returned giving them the all clear and they began to pull out the intruding tube. It was done quickly like a band aid and once it was out Clint proceeded to cough like he was trying to lose a lung.

Foolishly she tried talking to him again. "It's okay, you're fine." She whispered her useless reassurances.

When Clint's eyes found after he was done coughing and saw her lips moving but no sound came to his ears panic struck him again. "Why," he started before he broke into more coughs, that he just realized he wasn't hearing and not because of the bandages covering his ears.

She reached for a cup of water and handed it to him. Clint ignored it. Water could wait, even though his throat was raw and dry. The question he had demanded an answer, and it would not wait.

"Why can't I hear you?" He coughed a bit more but the sound still escaped him. The concerned looks on everyone's faces gave him even more worry. "Why can't I hear?" It was all his addled mind could think of in the moment. He couldn't hear the sound of a heart monitor beeping in the background, or his voice that probably sounded as raw as it felt, he couldn't hear Natasha's words from a moment before. If he could hear it Clint assumed the heart rate monitor next to him would be going mad at the moment. "Nat, I can't hear. Why can't I hear?"

She didn't say anything, but he found everything he needed to know in the tears spilling down her face and the message that her eyes were sending him.

_I'm sorry_.

* * *

**Strike Team Delta Will Return In**

**Between The Bars **

**Coming Soon**


End file.
